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PRESENTED BV 



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AND OTHER / L( f ;-, " 

POEMS, 



BY 



ROBERT &OUTHEY. 



Kos hsec novimus esse nihil, 



BOSTON : 

PUBLISHED BY C. WILLIAMS, 

NO. 8, STATE-STREET* 

1811, 






#7 



J. T. BUCKINGHAM, PRINTER, 

WINTER-STREET. 



i 



I 



AD VER TISEMEJY7\ 

These Poems were published some 
years ago in the Annual Anthology. 
They have now been revised and print- 
ted in this collected form, because they 
have pleased those readers whom the 
Author was most desirous of pleasing. 
Let them be considered as the desulto- 
ry productions of a man sedulously em- 
ployed upon better things. 



METRICAL TALES. 



■* 






GOD's JUDGEMENT ON A BISHVP. 



Here folloiveth the History of Hatto, Archbishop 

of Mentz. 
It hapned in the year 914, that there ivas an exceed- 
ing great famine in Germany , at 'what time Otho stir- 
named the Great ivas Emperor ', and one Hatto once Ab- 
bot of Fulda ivas Archbishop of Mentz, of the Bishops 
after Crescens and Crescentius the two and thirtieth, of 
the Archbishops after St. Bonafacius the thirteenth. 
This Hatto in the thne of this great famine afore-men- 
tioned ', iv hen he saiv the poor people of the country ex- 
ceedingly oppressed ivith famine, assembled a great com- 
pany of them together into a Bar tie, and like a most ac- 
cursed and mercilesse caitiff e burnt up those poor inno- 
cent souls, that mere so far from doubting any such 
?natter, that they rather hoped to receive some comfort 
and relief at his hands. The reason thai moved the 
prelate to commit that execrable impiety, ivas because 
he thought the famine ivould the sooner cease, if those* 
unprof 'table beggars that consumed more bread than they 
ivere ivorihy to eat, ivere dispatched out of the ivorld. 
For he said that those poor folks ivere like to Mice, that 
ivere good for nothing but to devour come. But God 
Almighty the just avenger of the poor folks quarreh 
did not long suffer this hainous Tyranny, this moit de m 



8 METRICAL TALES. 

testable fact, unpunished. For he mustered up an 
Army of Mice against the Archbishop, and sent them 
to persecute him as his furious Alastors, so that they 
afflicted him both day and night, and would not suffer 
him to take his rest in any place, JVhereupsn the Pre 
late thinking thai he should be secure from the inju- 
ry of Mice if he ivere in a Certain tower, that stand* 
sth in the Rhine near to the toiun, betook himself unto 
the said tower as to a safe refuge and sanctuary from 
his enemies, and locked himself in. But the innumera- 
ble troupes of Mice chased him continually very eager' 
ty, swumme unto him upon the top of the water to exe- 
cute the just judgement of God, and so at last be was 
most miserably devoured hy those gillie creatures ; who 
pursued him with such bitter hostility, that it is record- 
ed they scraped and gnawed out hit very name from 
the iv alls and tapestry wherein it was written > after 
they had so cruelly devoured his body. Wherefore the 
tower wherein he was eaten up by the Mice is shewn 
to this day, for a perpetual monument to all succeeding 
ages of the barbarous and inhuman tyranny cf this im* 
pious Prelate, being situate in a little green Island in 
the midst of the Rhine near to the towne of Bing* 
and is commonly called in the German Tongue, the 

MOWSE-TURN 

Coryat's Crud. P. 571. 572. 
Other Authors who record this tale say that the Bisk' 
op was eaten by Rajs. 
* Hodie Biagen, 



METRICAL TALES. 5 

The summer and autumn had been so wet 
That in winter the corn was growing yet, 
'Twas a piteous sight to see all around 
The corn lie rotting on the ground. 

Every day the starving poor 
Crowded around Bishop Hatto's door, 
For he had a plentiful last-years store, 
And all the neighbourhood could tell 
His granaries were furnished well. 

At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day 

To quiet the poor without delay, 

He bade them to his great barn repair 

And they should have food for the winter there. 

Rejoiced the tidings good to hear, 

The poor folk flocked from far and near ~; 

The great barn was full as it could hold 

Of women and children, and young and old. 

Then when he saw it could hold no more, 
Bishop Hatto he made fast the door, 
And whilst for mercy on Christ they call, 
He set fire to the barn and burnt them all. 

I* faith, 'tis an excellent bonfire ! quoth h.e, 
And the country is greatly obliged to me, 
For ridding it in these times forlorn 
Of Rats that only consume the torn, 



10 METRICAL TALES. 

So then to his palace returned he, 

And he sat down to supper merrily, 

And he slept that night like an innocent man ; 

Eut Bishop Hatto never slept again. 

In the morning as he entered the hall 
Where his picture hung against the wall, 
A sweat like death all over him cane, 
For the Rats had eaten it out of the frame. 

As he looked there came a man from his farm, 
He had a countenance white with alarm, 
My Lord, I opened your granaries this morn 
And the Rats had eaten all your corn. 

Another came running presently, 
And he was as pale as pale could be, 
Fly I my Lord Bibhop, fly, quoth he, 
Ten thousand Rats are coming this way. — 
The Lord forgive you for yesterday ! 

1*11 go to my tower in the Rhine, replied he, 
'Tis the safest place in Germany, 
The walls are high and the shores are steep, 
And the tide is strong and the water deep. 

Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away, 
And he crost the Rhine without delay, 
And reach'd his tower in the island and barr'd 
All the gates secure and hard. 



METRICAL TALES. 1J 

He laid him down and closed his eyes ; 

But soon a scream made him arise, 

He started, and saw two eyes of flame 

On his pillow, from whence the screaming came. 

He listen'd and look'd ;— 'twas only the cat ; 
But the Bishop he grew more fearful for that, 
For she sate screaming, mad with fear 
At the Army of Rats that were drawing near. 

For they have swum over the river so deep, 
And they have climb'd the shores so steep, 
And now by thousands up they crawl 
To the holes and windows in the wall. 

Down on his knees the Bishop fell, 

And faster and faster his beads did he tell, 

As louder and louder drawing near, 

The saw of their teeth without he could hear. 

And in at the window&and in at the door, 
And through the walls by thousands they pour, 
And down from the ceiling and up through the 

floor, 
From the right and the left, from behind and 

before, 
From within and without, froin above and below, 
And all at once to the Bishop they go. 



12 METRICAL TALES. 

They have whetted their teeth against the stones ; 
And now they pick the Bishop's bones, 
They gnawed the flesh from every limb, 
For they were sent to do judgement on him ! 



THE PIOUS PAINTER. 



The story of the Pious Painter is related in the Pia 
Hilaria of Gazaus, But the Catbolick Poet has omit" 
Ud the cenclusion. This is to be found in tht Fab* 
iiaux of Le Grand, 



THE FIRST PART. 

There once was a painter in catholick days, 

Like Job who eschewed all evil. 
Still on his Madonnas the curious may gaze 
With applause and with pleasure, but chiefly his 
praise 

And delight was in painting the Devil. 

They were Angels, compared to the Devils he 
drew, 
Who besieged poor St. Anthony's '-ell ; 
Suxh burning hot eyes, such a damnable hue 1 



METRICAL TALES. 1$ 

You could even smell brimstone their breath 
was so blue, 
He painted the Devil so well. 

And now had the artist a picture begun, 

'Twas over the virgin church door ; 
She stood on the Dragon embracing her Son, 
Many Devils already the artist had done, 
But this must out-do all before. 

The Old Dragon's imps as they fled thro* the air 

At seeing it paus*d on the wing, 
For he had the likeness so just to a hair, 
That they came as Apollyon himself had been 
there, 

To pay their respects to their king. 

Every child at beholding it shivered with dread 

And scream'd as he turn'd away quick ; 
Not an old woman saw it, but raising her head, 
Dropt a^bead, made a cross on her wrinkles, and 
said, 
Lord keep me from ugly Old Nick ! 

What the Painter so earnestly thought on by day 
He sometimes would dream of by night ; 

But «nce he was startled as sleeping he lay ; 

*Tis no fancy, no dream, he could plainly survey 
That the Devil himself was in sight, 



14" METRICAL TALES. 

You rascally dauber ! old Beelzebub cries, 

Take heed how you wrong me again ! 
Tho' your caricatures for myself I despise, 
Make me handsomer now in the multitude's eyes, 
Or see if I threaten in vain ! 

Now the Painter was bold and religious beside, 

And on faith he had certain reliance. 
So earnestly he all his countenance eyed, 
Andthank'd him for sitting with catholickpride, 
And sturdily bade him defiance. 

Betimes in the morning the painter arose, 

He's ready as soon as 'tis light. 
Every look, every line, every feature he knows, 
'Tis fresh in his eye, to his labour he goes, 

And he has the old Wicked One quite. 

Happy man ! he is sure the resemblance can't 
fail, 
The tip of the nose is red hot, 
There's his grin and his fangs, his skin cover 'd 

with scale, 
And that the identical curl of his tail,— 
Not a mark, not a claw is forgot. 

He looks and retouches again with delight i 

'Tis a portrait complete to his mind ! 
He touches again, and again gluts his sight, 



METRICAL TATBS. 15 

He looks round for applause, and he sees with 
affright, 
The original standing behind. 

Fool ! Idiot I old Beelzebub grinn'd a3 he 
spoke, 
And stampt on the scaffold in ire. 
The Painter grew pale, for he knew it no joke, 
*Twas a terrible height, and the scaffolding 
broke, 
The Devil could wish it no higher. 

Help — help me ! O Mary ! he cried in alarm, 

As the scaffold sunk under his feet. 
From the canvas the virgin extended her arm, 
She caught the good Painter, she saved him 
from harm, 
There were hundreds who saw in the street 

The Old Dragon fled when the wonder he spied, 

And cursed his own fruitless endeavour. 
While the Painter called after his rage to deride, 
Shook his pallet and brushes in triumph, and 
cried, 
I'll paint thee more ugly than ever ! 



16 METRICAL TALES. 



THE PIOUS PAINTEE. 

TEE SECOND PART* 

The Painter so piou6 all praise had acquired 

For defying the malice of hell ; 
The monks the unerring resemblance admired 
N«t a lady lived near but her portrait desired 

From one who succeeded so well. 

One there was to be painted the number amony 

Of features most fair to behold ; 
The country around of fair Marguerite rung, 
Marguerite she was lovely and lively and young 

Her husband was ugly and old. 

O Painter, avoid her ! O Painter, take care I 

For Satan is watchful for you ! 
Take heed lest you fall in the Wicked One'r 

snare, 
The net is made ready, O Painter, beware 

Of Satan and Marguerite too. 

She seats herself now, now she lifts up her head. 

On the artist she fixes her eyes ; 
The colours are ready, the canvas is spread, 
He lays on the white, and he lays on the red. 

And the features of beauty arise. 



METRICAL TALES, 17 

He is come to her eyes, eyes so bright and so 
blue ! 

There's a look he cannot express ; — 
His colours are dull to their quick-sparkling hue, 
VTore and more on the lady he fixes his view* 

On the canvas" he looks less and less. 

n vain he retouches, her eyes sparkle more, 
And that look that fair Marguerite gave !- 
tfany Devils the artist had painted of yore, 
Jut he never attempted an Angel before, — 
St. Anthony help him and save ! 

le yielded, alas ! for the tujth must be told, 

To the woman, the Tempter, and Fate. 
: was settled the lady so fair to behold, 
hould elope from her husband so ugly and old 
With the Painter so pious of late ! 

Tow Satan exults in his vengeance complete, 
To the husband he makes the scheme known 5 
fight comes, and the lovers impatiently meet, 
'ogether they fly, they are seiz'd in the street. 
And in prison the Painter is thrown. 

/ith repentance, his only companion, he lie?, 
And a dismal companion is she 
a a sudden he saw the Old Serpent arise, 
B 



18 METRICAL TALES, 

Now you villanous dauber ! Sir Beelzebub 
cries, 
You are paid for your insults to me ! 

But my tender heart it is easy to move 

If to what I propose you agree ; 
That picture, — be just ! the resemblance im- 
prove, 
Make a handsomer portrait, your chains J'll re- 
move, 
And you shall this instant be free. 

Overjoyed, the conditions so easy he hears, 
1*11 make you quite handsome ! he said : 
He said, and his chain on the Devil appears, 
Releas'd from his prison, releas'd from his fears, 
The Painter is snug in his bed. 

At morn he arises, composes his look, 
And proceeds to his work as before ; 

The people beheld him, the culprit they took ; 

They thought that the Painter his prison kad 
broke, 
And to prison they led him once more. 

They open the dungeon ; — behold in his place 

In the corner old Beelzebub lay. 
He smirks and he smiles, and he leers with a 
grace, 



METRICAL TALES. 19 

That the Painter might catch all the charms of 
his face, 
Then vanish 'd in lightning away. 

Quoth the Painter, I trust you'll suspect me no 
more, 

Since you find my assertions were true. 
But I'll alter the pictur eabove the church door, 
For I never saw Satan so closely before, 

And I must give the Devil his due; 



ST. MICHAEL'S CHAIR, 
AND WHO SAT THERE. 



Merrily, merrily rung the bells, 
The belts of St. Michael's tower, 

When Richard Penlake and Rebecca his wile 
Arrived at the church door. 

Richard Penlake was a cheerful man, 

Cheerful and frank and free, 
But he led a sad life with Rebecca his wife. 

For a terrible shrew was she, 



20 METRICAL TALES. 

Richard Penlake a scolding would take, 

'Till patience availed no longer, 
Then Richard Penlake his crab-stick would 
take 

And show her that he was the stronger. 

Rebecca his wife had often wish'd 

To sit in St. Michael's chair ; 
For she should be the mistress then 

If she had once sat there. 

It chanced that Richard Penlake fell sick, 
They thought he would have died ; 

Rebecca his wife made a vow for his life 
Asshekuelt by his bed-sicie. 

Now hear my prayer, St. Michael 1 and spare 

My husband's life quoth, she ; 
And to thine altar we will go. 

Six marks to give to thee. 

Richard Penlake repeated the vow, 

For woundily sick was he ; 
Save me, St. Michael, and we will go 

Six marks to give to thee. 

When Richard grew well Rebecca his wife 
Teized him by night and by day : 

O mire own dear ! for you I fear, 
If we the vow delay 



METRICAL TALES. 21 

Merrily, merrily rung the bells, 

The bells of St. Michael's tower, 
When Richard Penlake and Rebecca his wife 

Arrived at the church door. 

Six marks they on the altar laid, 

And Richard knelt in prayer ; 
She left him to pray and stole away 

To sit in St. Michael's chair. 

Up the tower Rebecca ran, 

Round and round and round ; 
'Twas a giddy sight to stand a-top 

And l©ok upon the ground. 

A curse on the ringers for rocking 

The tower ! Rebecca cried, 
As over the church battlements 

She strode with a long stride, 

A blessing on St. Michael's chair 1 

She said as she sat down : 
Merrily, merrily rung the bells, 

And out Rebecca was thrown. 

Tidings to Richard Penlake were brought 

That hi i good wife was dead : 
Now shall we toll tor her poor soul 

The great church-bell ? they said. 



22 METRICAL TALES. 

Toll at her burying, quoth Richard Penlakc 
Toll at her burying, quoth he ; 

But don't disturb the ringers now * 
In compliment to me. 



a ballad; 

Of a TOUNG MAN that would -read unlawful 

Books, and bow he was punished, 

VERY PITHY AND PROFITABLE, 



Cornelius Agrippa went out one day, 
His study he lock'd ere he went away, 
And he gave the key of the door to his wife, 
And charged her to keep it lock'd on her life. 

And if any one a9k my study to see, 
I charge you trust them not with the key, 
Whoever may beg, intreat, and implore, 
On your life let nobody enter that door. 

There liv'd a young man in the house, who in 

vain 
Access to that study had sought to obtain. 



METRICAL TALES. 23 

And he begg'd andpray'd the books to see, 
Till the foolish woman gave him the key. 

On the study-table a book there lay, 

Which Agrippa himself had been reading that 

day, 
The letters were written with blood within, 
And the leaves were made of dead men's skin, 

And these horrible leaves of magick between 
Were the ugliest pictures that ever were seen. 
The likeness of things so foul to behold, 
That what they were is not fit to be told. 

The young man he began to read 
He knew not what, but he would proceed, 
When there was heard a sound at the door, 
Which as he read on grew more and more. 

And more and more the knocking grew, 
The young man knew not what to do ; 
But trembling in fear he sat within, 
Till the door was broke and the Devil came is. 

Two hideous horns on his head he had got, 
Like iron heated nine times red hot ; 
The breath of his nostrils was brimstone blue. 
And his tail like a fiery serpent grew. 



24 METRICAL TALES. 

What wouldst thou with me ? the Wicked One 

cried, 
But not a word the young man replied ; 
Every hair on his head was standing upright 
And his limbs like a palsy shook with affright. 

What wouldst thou with me ? cried the author 

of ill, 
But the wretched yoUngman was silent still 
Not a word had his lips the power to say, 
And his marrow seemed to be melting away. 

What wouldst thou with me ? the third time he 

cries. 
And a flash of lightning came from his eyes. 
And he lifted his grifiin claw in the air. 
And the young man had not strength for a 

prayer. 

His eyes red fire and fury dart 
As out he tore the young man's heart 
He grinn'd a horrible grin at his prey, 
And in a clap of thunder vanish'd away. 



The MORAL. 

Henceforth let all young men take heed" 
How in a conjuror's books they read. 



METRICAL TALES. 25 



KING CHARLEMAIN. 



Francois Petrar que, fort renomme entre les Poetes Ital- 
rns, discourani en une epistre son voyage ds France et 
fe V Allemaigne, nous raconte que passant par la ville 
V Aix, il apprit de quelque pr est res unehistoire prodi" 
-eusequils tenoient de main en main pour tres veritable* 
2«i estoit que Charles le Grand, apres avoir conquests 
lusiers pays, s'esperdit de telle faqon en V amour d\ne 
imple femme, que mettant Uut bonneur et reputation en 
rriere, il oublia non seulement les affaires de sin roy m 
ume, mais anssi le soing de sa propre personne, au 
rand desplaisir de chacun ; est ant seulement ententif a 
mrtiser ceste dame * laqvelle par bonheur commenca a 
' aliter d*une grosse maladie, qui lui apporta la mort* 
Joftt les Princes et grand Seigneurs fort resjouis, espe- 
ant que par ceste mart, Charles reprendroit comme-de-* 
•ant et ses esprits et les affaires du royaume en main : 
)utesfois il si irouva tellcment infatue de ceste amour 
u encores cherissoit-il ce cadaver, V embrassant, bats* 
ntf aceolant de la mesmefaqon quedevant, et au lieu ds 
rester V oreille aux legations qui lui survenoient, il V 
ntretenoit de mille bJyes y comme sil eust este pi sin da 
tie. Ce corps commencoit deja non seulement a mat 
«ntir % mais aussi se tournsh en putrefaction , et neartt~ 
C 



METRICAL TALES. 

mains ny avoit aucun de ses favor is qui luy en osast 
parler ; dont advint que V Arch eves que Turpin mieux 
advise que Us autres, pourpsnsa que telle chose ne pou- 
I'oit estre advenu'c sans quelquc sorcellerie. Au moyen 
de quoy espiant un jour Vheure que le Roy s'estoit absent e 
de la chambre } commen^a de fouiller le corps de toutes 
Jparts ,fnalement trouva dans sa bouche au dessous de ea 
langue un anneau qu'il i^y csia. Le jour mcsr/ie Chat' 
iemaigne reioumant sw Ses premieres brisees,se trouva 
fort estonne de voir line carcasse ainsi puante. Par- 
quoy, comme s*il sefust resveille d*un prcf.?,-;d sommeil, 
£ommanda que Von I ens evslist prompt ment Cequifut 
fait ; mais en contr es change de ceste folie, il toitrna 
torn ses pensemens vers V Jrchevesque porieur de cest 
anneau, ne pouvant estre de ia en avant sans luy, et le 
sstivant en tons les eniro:is. Quoy voyant ce sage Pfe- 
jat, et craignant que cest anneau ne tembast en mains de 
cuelque autre* le jetta dans un lac p^o chain de la ville. 
J)ipuis l-jquel temps on dit que ce Roy se trouve si es- 
&ris de V amour du lieu^ qui ne desempara la ville 
iFAix, ou ilbastitun Palais, et un JMonastere, en Vun 
des quels il parft le teste de ses jours et en V autre voulut 
estre ens'vely, ordonnant par son tstament que tous les 
Empereurs de Rome eussent a sefaire sacrer premiere 
went *n ce lieu. 

Les Recherches de la Prance t d? Esiknne 
Pasquler* Paris. 1.611. 



METRICAL TALRS. 27 

KING CHARLEMIAN. 

It was strange that he lov'd her, for youth, was 
gone by, 
And the bloom of her beauty was fled; 
Twas the glance of the harlot that gleam'd in 

her eye, 
And all but the monarch could plainly descry 
From whence came her white and her red. 

Yet he thought with Agathanone might compare: 

That kings might be proud of her chain ; 
The court was a desert if she were not there, 
She only was lovely, she only was fair, 
Such dotage possess'd Charlemain. 

The soldier, the statesman, the courtier,themaid, 

Alike do their rival detest ; 
And the good old Archbishop who ceas'd to 

upbraid, 
Shook his gray head in sorrow, and silently 
pray'd 
To sing Jier the requiem of rest. 

A joy ill-dissembled soon gladdens them al], 

For Agatha sickens and dies. 
And now they are ready with bier and with pallj 
The tapers gleam gloomy amid the high hall, 

And the bell tolls long thro' the skie*. 



28 METRICAL TALES. 

They came, but he sent them in anger away. 

For she should not be buried, he said ; 
And despite of all, counsel, for inaay a day, 
Array'd in her costly apparel she lay, 
And he would go sit by the dead. 

The cares of the kingdom demand him in vain, 

And the army cry out for their Lord ; 
The Lombards, the fierce misbelievers of Spain, 
Now ravage the realms of the proud Charlemain 
And still he unsheathes not the sword. 

The soldiers they clamor, the monks bend ifl 
prayer 

In the quiet retreats of the cell ; 
The physicians to counsel together repair, 
They pause and they ponder, at last they declare 

That his senses are bound by a spell. 

With relicks protected, and confident grown 

And telling devoutly his beads, 
The archbishop prepares him, and when it was 

known, 
That the king for awhile left the body alone. 

To search for the spell he proceeds. 

Now careful he searches with tremulous haste 

For the spell that bewitches the king ; 
And under the tongue for security placed, 



METRICAL TALES. 29 

Its margin with mystical characters faced, 
At length he discovers a ring. 

Rejoicing he seiz'dit and hastened away, 

The monarch re-entered the room, 
The enchantment was ended, and suddenly gay 
He bade the attendants no longer delay 
But bear her with speed to the tomb. 

Now merriment, joyaunce and feasting again 

Enlivened the palace of Aix, 
And now by his heralds did King Charlemain 
Invite to his palace the courtier train 

To hold a high festival day. 

And anxiously now for the festival day 

The highly-born maidens prepare ; 
And now all apparell'd in costly array, 
Exulting they come to the palace of Aix, 
Young and aged, the brave and the fair. 

Oh ! happy the damsel who J mid her compeers 
For a moment engaged the king's eye ! 

Now glowing with hopes and now fever'd with 
fears 

Each maid or triumphant, or jealous, appears, 
A« noticed by him, or past by. 

And now as the evening approach'd, to the ball 
4a anxious suspense they advance, 



30 METRICAL TALES. 

Each hoped the king's choice on her beauties 

might fail, 
When lo ! to the utter confusion of all 
He asked the archbishop to dance. 

The damsels they laugh and the barons they 
stare, 
'Twas mirth and astonishment all ; 
And the archbishop started and muttered a 

prayer, 
And, wrath at receiving such mockery there, 
Withdrew him in haste from the hall. 

The moon dimpled over the water with light 
As he wandered along the lake side ; 

When lo ! where beside him the king met his 
sight ; 

* e Oh turn thee archbishop, my joy and delight, 
M Oh turn thee, my charmer," he cried ^ 

Ct Oh come where the feast and the dance and 
the song 
«* Invite thee to mirth and to love ; 
''Or at this happy moment away from "the 

throng 
< .« To the shade of yon wood let us hasten along, 
« The moon never pierces that grove." 



METRICAL TALES. 31 

Amazement and anger the prelate possest, 

With terror his accents he heard, 
Then Charlemain warmly and eagerly prest 
The archbishop's old wither 'd hand to his breast 

And kiss'dhis old gray grizzle beard. 

" Let us well then these fortunate moments 
employ V* 
Cried the monarch with passionate tone : 
" Comeaway then, dear charmer, — my angel, — 

my joy, 
" Nay struggle not now, — 'tis invain to be coy,—- 
" And remember that we are alone." 

"Blessed Mary protect me!" the archbishop 
cried; 

" What madness is come to the King !" 
In vain to escape from the monarch he tried, 
When luckily he on his finger espied 

The glitter of Agatha's ring. 

Overjoy'd, the old prelate remembered the spell, 
And far in the lake flung the ring; 

The waters closed round it, and, wondrous to 
tell, 

Released from the cursed enchantment of hell, 
His reason returned to the king. 

But he built him a palace there close by the bay, 
And there did he 'stahlish his reign ; 



bZ METRICAL TALES, 

And the traveller who will, may behold at this 

day 
A monument still in the ruins of Aix 
Of the spell that possessed Charlemain. 



St. ROMUALD. 



The Virtues of this Saint, as mentioned in the pet 2tf, 
may be found particularized in his life. The honour 
intended him by the Spaniards is meniionti by An- 
drews, History of England \ Vol. 1. 



One day, it matters not to know 

How many hundred years ago, 
A Spaniard stopt at a posadadoor; 

The landlord came to welcome him, and 
chat 

Of this and that, 
For he had seen the traveller there before. 

Does holy Romuald dwell 
Still in his cell ? 
The traveller ask'd, or is the old man dead f 



METRICAL TALES. S3 

He has left his loving flock, and we 
So good a Christian never more shall see, 
The landlord answer'd, and he shook his head 

Ah Sir ! we know his worth. 

If ever there did live a saint on earth ! 

Why Sir, he always used to wear a shirt 
For thirty days, all season, day and n'ght : 
Good man, he knew it was not right 

For dust and ashes to fall out with dirt 3 
And then he only hung it out ki the rain, 
And put it on again. 

There used to be rare work 

With him and the devil there in yonder 
cell; 
For Satan used to maul him like a Turk, 

There they would sometimes fight 

All through a winter's night, 

From sun-set until morn, 

He with across, the devil with his horii ; 

The devil spitting fire with might and 
main 
Enough to make St Michael half afraid ^ 
He splashing holy water till he made 

His red hide hiss again, 
And the hot vapour fill'd the little celL 

This was so common that his face became 



$4} METRICAL TALES. 

All black and yellow with the brimstone 
flame, 
And then he smelt : — Ob Lord ! how he did 

smell ! 

Then Sir ! to see how he would mortify 
The flesh ! if any one had dainty fare, 
Good man, he would come there, 
And look at all the delicate things, and cry, 
O belly, belly S 

You would be gormandizing now, I know, 
jBut it shall not be so; — 
Home to your bread and water — home, I tell 
ye ! 

But, quoth theiraveller, wherefore did he leave 
A flock that knew his saintly worth so well? 
Why, said the landlord, Sir, it so befell 

He heard unluckily of cur intent 

To do him a great honour ; and you know 
He was not covetous of fame below, 

And so by stealth one night away he went. 

What might this honour be ? the traveller cried; 

Why Sir, the host replied, 
We thought perhaps that he might one day 
leave us ; 

And then should strangers have 

The good man's grave. 



METRICAL TALES. 35 

A loss like that would naturally grieve us, 
For he'll be made a Saint of to be sure. 
Therefore we thought it prudent to secure 

Hi* relicks while we might ; 

And so we meant to strangle him one night. 



THE WELL OF St. KETJHS. 



I know not whe:l-;r it be worth the reporting that there 
is in Cornwall) near the parish of St. Neots, a Well 
arched oter 'with the robes of four kinds of trees, withy * 
Oaky elm, and ash, dedicated to St. Ktyne. The reported 
virtue of the water is this, that whether husband or 
'wife camefrst to drink thereof, they get the mastery 
thereby. ♦ Fuller. 



A "Well there is in the west country, 
And a clearer one never was seen ; 

There is not a wife in the west country 
But has heard of the Well of £t. Keyne. 

An oak and an elm tree stand beside, 
And behind does an ash tree grow, 



36 METRICAL TALES. 

And a willow from the bank above 
Drops to the water below. 

A traveller came to the Well of St. Keyne ; 

Joyfully he drew nigh, 
For from cock-crow he had been travelling 

And there was not a cloud in the sky. 

He drank of the water so cool and clear, 

For thirsty and hot was he, 
And he sat down upon the bank 

Under the willow tree. 

There came a man from the neighbouring town 

At the weli to fill his pail; 
On the well-side he rested it 

And he bade the stranger hail, 

-Now art thou a bachelor, stranger ? quoth he, 

For, an if thou hast a wife, 
The happiest draught thou hast drank this day 

That ever thou didst in thy life. 

Or has thy good woman, if one thou hast, 

Ever here in Cornwall been ? 
For if she have, I'll venture my life 

She has drank of the Well of St. Keyne. 

I have left a good woman who never was here, 
The stranger he made reply. 



METRICAL TALES. 37 

But that my draught should be better for that 
I pray you answer me why. 

St .Keyne, quoth the countryman, many a time 

Drank of this crystal well, 
And before the angel summoned her 

She laid on the water a spell. 

If the husband of this gifted well 

Shall drink before his wife, 
A happy man henceforth is he 

For he shall be master for life. 

But if the wife should drink of it first, — 

God help the husband then ! 
The stranger stoopt to the Well of St. Keyne, 

And drank of the water again. 

You drank of the well I warrant betimes ? 

He to the countryman said : 
But the countryman smiFd as the 6tranger spake 

And sheepishly shook his head. 

I hastened as soon as the wedding was done 

And left my wife in the porch. 
But i' faith she had been wiser than me, 

For she took a bottle to church, 



38 METRICAL TALES, 



BISHOP BRUNO. 



H Bruno, the Bishop cf Herbipolitanum, sailing in the 
river of Danubius, ivith Henry the third, then Empe~ 
tour, being not far from a place tvbicb the Germanes 
call Ben Strudel, or the devouring gulf e, ivhich is 
neere unto Gr'inon, a castle in Austria, a spirit iva* 
heard clamouringaloud, " Ho, ho, Bishop Bruno, ivhether 
art thou travelling ? but dispose of thyself e, hozu thou 
pleasest, thou shalt be my prey and spoiled At the hearing 
of these tvords they ivere all stupifed, and the Bishop 
ivith the rest crost and blest themselves. The issue ivas 
thai in a short time after t the Bishop feasted iviih the 
Emperor in a Castle belonging to the Countesse ofEs- 
lurch, a rafter fell from the roof of the chamber, where- 
in they sate, and strooke him dead at the table" 

Heywood's Hierarchie of the blessed Angels* 



Bishop Bruno awoke in the dead midnight, 
And he heard his heart beat loud with affright ; 
He dreamt he had rung the palace bell, 
And the sound it gave was his passing knell 



METRICAL TALES. 39 

Bishop Bruno smiled at his fears so vain, 
He turned to sleep and he dreamt it again : 
He rung at the palace gate once more, 
And Death was the porter that opened the door. 

He started up at the fearful dream, 

And he heard at his window the screech owl 

scream ! 
Bishop Bruno slept no more that night, — 
Oh ! glad was he when he saw the day light ! 

Now he goes forth in proud array, 
For he with the emperor dines to day : 
There was not a baron in Germany 
That went with a nobler train than he. 

Before and behind his soldiers ride, 
The people throng'd to see their pride ; 
They bowd the head, and the knee they bent. 
But nobody blest him as he went, 

So he went on stately and proud, 
When he heard a voice that cried aloud, 
Ho ! ho ! Bishop Bruno ! you travel with glee, — 
But I would have you know, you travel to me ! 

Behind and before and on either side, 

He look'd but nobody he espied : 

And the bishop at that grew cold with fear, 

Jor he beard the words distinct and clear, 



40 METRICAL TALES. 

And when he rung at the palace bell. 
He almost expected to hear his knell ; 
And when the porter turn'd the key, 
He almost expected Death to see. 

But soon the bishop recover'd his glee, 
For the emperor welcomed him royally ; 
And now the tables were spread, and there 
Were choicest wines and dainty fare. 

And now the bishop had blest the meat, 
When a voice was heard as he sat in his seat, — 
With the emperor now you are dining in glee, 
But know, Bishop Bruno ! you sup with me ! 

The bishop then grew pale with affright, 

And suddenly lost his appetite ; 

All the wine and dainty cheer 

Could not comfort his heart so sick with fear. 

But by little and little recovered he, 
For the wine went flowing merrily, 
And he forgot his former dread, 
And his cheeks again grew rosy red. 

When he sat down to the royal fare 
Bishop Bruno was the saddest man there; 
But when the masquers entered the hall, 
He was the merriest man of all. 



METRICAL TALES. 41 

Then from amid the masquers crowd 

There went a voice hollow and loud, — 

You have past the day, Bishop Br U no, with 

glee ! 
But you must pass the night with me I 

His cheeks grew pale and his eye-balls glare, 
And stiff round his tonsure bristles his hair ; 
With that there came one from the masquers 

band, 
And took the bishop by the hand. 

The bony hand suspended his breath, 
His marrow grew cold at the touch of death ; 
On saints in vain he attempted to call, 
BUhop Bryno fell dead in the palate hall, 



42 METRICAL TALES. 



THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. 



It was a summer evening, 

Old Kaspar's work was done I 
And he before his cottage door 

Was sitting in the sun, 
And by him sported on the green 
His little grandchild Wilhelmine. 

She saw her brother Peterkin 
Roll something large and round, 

Which he beside the rivulet 
In playing there had found ; 

He came to ask what he had found, 

That was so large, and smooth, and round ; 

Old Kaspar took it from the boy 

Who stood expectant by ; 
And then the old man shook his head, 

And with a natural sigh, 
9 Tis some poor fellow's scull, said he, 
Who fell in the great victory. 

I find them in the garden, for 
There's many here about § 



METRICAL TALES. 4$ 

And often when I go to plough, 

The ploughshare turns them out; 
For many thousand men, said he, 
Were slain in the great victory. 

Now tell us what 'twas all about, 

Young Peterkin he cries, 
And little Wilhelmine looks up 

With wonder-waiting eyes ; 
Now tell us all about the war, 
And what they kill'd each other for. 

It was the English, Kaspar cried, 

Who put the French to rout ; 
But what they kill'd each other for, 

I could not well make out. 
But every body said, quoth he* 
That 'twas a famous victory ► 

My father lived at Blenheim then, 

Yon little stream hard by ; 
They burnt his dwelling to the ground 
And he was forc'd to fly ; 
So with his wife and child he fled, 
Nor had he where to re3t his head. 

With fire and sword the country round 

Was wasted far and wide, 
And many a childing mother then, 
And new-born infant died, 



44 METRICAL TALES, 

But things like that, you know, must be 
At every famous victory. 

They say it was a shocking sight 

After the field was won, 
For many thousand bodies here 

Lay rotting in the sun ; 
But things like that, you know, must be 

After a famous victory. 

Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, 
And our good Prince Eugene. 

Why 'twas a very wicked thing ! 
Said little Wilhelmine. 

Nay— nay — my little girl, quoth he, 

It was a famous victory. 

And every body praised the duke 

Who such a fight did win. 
But what good came of it at last ? 

Quoth little Peterkin. 
Why that I cannot tell, said he, 
But 'twas a famous victory* 



METRICAL TALES. 45 



St. GUALBERTO. 



Addressed to a Friend. 



The work is done, the fabrick is complete ; 
Distinct the traveller sees its distant tower, 
Yet ere his steps attain the sacred seat, 
Must toil for many a league and many an 
hour. 
Elate the abbot sees the pile and knows 
Stateliest of convents now,hisnewMoscera rose. 

Long were the tale that told MosceraV 
pride, 
Its columns clustered strength and lofty 
state, 
How many a saint bedeck 5 d its sculptured side, 

What intersecting arches graced its gate; 
Its tower how high, its massy walls how strong, 
These fairly to describe were sureatedious song. 

Yet while the fane rose slowly from the 
ground, 
3ut little store of chanty, I ween* 



46 METRICAL TALES. 

The passing pilgrim at Moscera found ; 

And often there the mendicant was seen 
Hopeless to turn him from the convent door, 
For this so costly work still kept the brethren 
poor. 

Now all is perfect, and from every side 
They flock to view the fabrick,young and 
old. 
Who now can tell Rodulfo's secret pride, 

When on the sabbath day his eyes behold 
The multitudes that crowd his chapel floor, 
Some sure to serve their God, to see Moscera 
more. 

So chanced it that Gualberto passed that way, 

Since sainted for a life of holy deeds; 
He paus'd the new-rear'd convent to survey, 
And, whilst o'er all its bulk his eye proceeds, 
Sorrows, as one whose holier feelings deem 
That ill so proud a pile did humble monks 
beseem. 

Him, musing as he stood, Rodulfo saw, 

Andforth he came to greet the holy guest, 
For he was known as one who held the law 

Of Benedict, and each severe behest 
So duly kept with such religious care, 
Tiiat Heaven had oft vouchsafed its wonders to 
his prayer. 



METRICAL TALES. 47 

« Good brother welcome !" thus Rodulfo 
cries, 
■ In sooth it glads me to behold you here 
" It is Gualberto ! and mine aged eyes 

" Did not decieve me : yet full many a 
year 
" Hath slipt away,since last you bade farewell 
" To me your host and my uncomfortable cell. 

" 'Twas but a sorry welcome then you found 

" And such as suited ill «, guest so dear ; 
" The pile was ruinous old, the base unsound ; 
" It glads me more to bid you welcome 
here ; 
" For you can call to mind your former 
state ; 
<l Come brother, pass with me the new Moscera's 
gate. 

So spake the cheerful abbot, but no smile 

Of answering joy soften* JGuasberto's brow 
He raised his head and pointed to the pile, 

" Moscera better pleas'd me then,thannow ; 
« A palace this, befitting kingly pride ! 
* Will holiness, my friend, in palace pomp 
abide ?" 

Aye," cries Rodulfo, a 'tis a goodly place ! 
" And pomp becomes the house of worship 
well. 



48 METRICAL TA 

" Nay scowl not round with so severe a face, 
" When earthly kings in seats of grandeur 
dwell, 
" Where art exhausted decks the sumptuous 
hall, 
" Can poor and sordid huts beseem the Lord of 
all r 

" And ye have rear'd these stately towers on 
high 
"To serve your God ?" the monk severe 
replied. 
It rose from zeal and earnest piety, 

" And prompted by no worldly thought* 
beside ? 
"Abbot, to him who prays with soul sincere 
'* In humble hermit cell, God will incline his 
ear. 

"Rodulfo ! while this haughty building rose, 
Still was the pilgrim welcome at your 
door ? 
" Did charity relieve the orphan's woes ? 
" Clothed ye the naked ? did ye feed the 
poor ? 
" He who with alms most succours the 
distrest, 
* Proud abbot, know he serves his heavenly 
Father best. 



Hi RICAL TALES. 4-9 

« Did they in sumptuous palaces go dwell 
" Who first abandoned all to serve the 
Lord ? 
<# Their place of worship was the desart cell; 
" Wild fruits and berries spread their frugal 
board ; 
" And if a brook, like this, ran murmuring by, 
1 They blest their gracious God, and "thought 
it luxury." 

Then anger darkened in Rodulfo's face, 

" Enough of preaching," sharply he replied, 
" Thou art grown envious ; — 'tis a common 
case, 
" Humility is made the cloak of pride, 
" Proud of our home's magnificence are we, 
But thou art far more proud in rags and 
beggary. " 

With that Gualberto cried in fervent tone, 
" O Father, hear me ! if this splendid pile 
ct Was for thinehonour rear'd, and thine alone 
" Bless it, O Father, with thy fostering smile? 
" Still may it stand, and never evil know, 
Long as beside its walls the eternal stream shall 
flow. 



50 METRICAL TALES. 

* But, Lord, if vain and worldly-minded men 
* Have wasted here the wealth which thou 

hast lent, 
" To pamper worldly pride ; frown on it then, 

" Soon be thy vengeance manifestly sent : 
Let yonder brock thai flows so calm beside, 
" Now from its base sweep down the unholy 
house of pride !" 

He said,— and lo the brook no longer flows ! 

The waters pau*e, and now they swell on 

high. 

High and more high the mass of water grows. 

The affrighted brethren from Moscerafly, 

And on their saints and on their God they call> 

For now the mountain bulk o'ertops the convent 

wall. 

Itfalls, the mountainbulk, with thundersound: 
Full on Mo'cera's pile the vengeance falls ! 
Its lofty tower now rushes to the ground, 
Prone Vie its columns now, its high arched 
walls, 
Earth shakes beneath the onward- rolling tide 5 
That from it< base swept down the unholy house 
of pride * 

* Era amigo de pobreza, en tanto grado, que 
sentia mucho, que tos Monasterios se edificass«a 



METRICAL TALES. 51 

"Were old Gualberto's reasons built on truth, 
Dear Geor^e,or like Moscera's base unsound r 
This sure I know, that glad am I in sooth 

He only play'd his pranks on foreign ground* 
For had he rurn'd the stream on England too' 
The Vandal monk had spoilt full many a goodly 
view. 

Then Malaibbury's arch had never met my 
sight, 



S'imptuosamente ; y assi visitando elde Moscera 
y vierdo un edificio grande, y elegante, buelto a, 
Kodulfo, que era alii Abad, con el rostro ayrado 
le dixo: Con lo que has gastado, siguiendo tu 
parecer, en este magnifico edificio, has quitado el 
sustento a muchos pobres. Puso los ojos en un 
pequeno arroyo, que corria alii cerca, y dixo, 
l)ios Omnipotente,que sueles hacergrandescosas 
de pequenas criaturas,yo te ruego,que vea por 
medio de esta pequeno arroyo venganza de este 
gi an edificio, Dixo esto, y fuese de alii como 
abominando el lugar ; y siendo oido, el arroyuelo 
comenzo a crecer, y fue de suerte, que recogi- 
«ndo un monte de agua, y tomando de atras la 
C( rrient e, vino con tan grande impetu,quellevan- 
du piedras y arboles consigo, derribo el edificio. 
JFlos Sanctorum^ por El Maestro Alonso de Villegas 



52 METRICAL TALES. 

Nor Battles 's vast and venerable pile ; 
I had not traversed then with such delight 

The hallowed ruins of our Alfred's isle, 
Where many a pilgrim's curse is well bestow'd 
On those who rob its walls to mend the turnpike 
road. 

Wells would have fallen, dear George, our 
country's pride ; 
And Canaing's stately church been rear'd 
in vain, 
Nor had the traveller Ely's tower descried, 
Which when thou seest far o'er the fenny 
plain, 
Dear George, I counsel thee to turn that way, 
Its ancient beauties sure will well reward delay* 

And we should never then have heard, 1 think, 
At evening hour, great Tom's tremendous 
knell ; 
The fountain streams that now in Christ- 
Church stink, 
Had niagara'd o'er the quadrangle ; 
But as 'twas beauty that deserv'd the flood, 
I ween, dear George, our own old college might 
have stood. 

Then had not Westminster, the house of God, 
Serv'd for a concert-room, or signal pott • 



METRICAL TALES. 55 

Old Thames, obedient to the father's nod, 
Had swept down Greenwich, England's 
noblest boast ; 
And eager to destroy the unholy walls, 
Fleet-ditch had rolPd up hill to overwhelm St. 
Paul's. 

George, do?t thou deem the legendary deeds. 

Of Romish saints a useless medley store 
Of lies, that he filings time away who reads r 
And wouldst thou rather bid me puzzle o'er 
Matter and mind, and all the eternal round, 
Plunged headlong down the dark and fathom- 
less profound J 

Now do 1 bleas the man who undertook 

These monks and martyrs to bicgr-jpMze, 
And love to ponder o'er his ponderou- be 

The mingle-mangle mass of truth and lies* 

Where Angels now, now Beelzebubs appear. 

And blind and honest zeal and holy faith sincere. 

All is not very truth, and yet 'twere hard 

The fabling monks for fabling to abuse ; 
What if a monk, from better cheme debarred, 
Some pious subject f or a taie should chuse. 
How some good man the flesh and fiend 
o'ercame. 
His taste met h inks, and not his conscience, were 
to blame: 



.54? METRICAL TALES. 

In after years, what he, good man ! had wrote, 
As we write novels to instruct our youth* 
Went travelling on, its origin forgot, 

Till at the length it past for gospel-truth. 
A fair account ! and shouldst thou like the 
plea, 
Thank thou thy valued friend, dear George, 
who taught it me. 

All is not false that seems at first a lie. 
One Antolinez* once, a Spanish knight, 



* Acontecio en aquella f batalla una cosa di^na 
de memoria. Fernan Antolinez, hombre noble 
y muy devoto, oia missa al tiempo que se dio 
senal de acometer, costumbre ordinaria suya 
antes de la pelea; por no dexarla comencada, se 
quedo en el templo quando sa toco a la arma. 
Esta piedad quan agradable fuesse a Dios, se 
entendio por un milagro. Estavase primero en 
la Iglesia, despues escondido en su casa, temia 
no le afrentassen como a cobarde. En tanto, 
otro a el sernejante, es a saber, su Angel bueno, 
pelea entre los primeros tan valientemente, que 
la vitoria de aquel dia se atribuyo en gran parte 
al valor de el dicho Antolinez. Confirmaron 
el milagro las senales de los golpes, y las man* 

t Cerca de Santistevan de Gormaz, a la ribera 
del rio Duero. A. D. 9S2. 



METRICAL TALES. 55 

Knelt at the mass, when lo ! the troops hard 

by 

Before the expected hour began the fight. 

Tho' courage, duty, honour, summoned there, 

He chose to forfeit all, not leave the unfinished 

prayer. 

But whilst devoutly thus the unarmed knight 
Waits till the holy service .should be o'er, 

Even then the foremost in the rurious fight 
Was he beheld to bathe his sword in gore, 

First in the van his plumes were seen to play, 
And Spain to him decreed the glory of the day. 

The truth is told, arid all at once exclaim 
His guardian angel heaven had deign'd to 
send; 

And thus the tale is handed down to fame. 
Now it this Antolinez had a friend 

chas de la sangre que se hailaron Irescas en sus 
armas y cavalio. Assi publicado el caso, y sabido 
lo que passava, quedo mas conocida la inocen- 
cia y esfuercx) de Antolinez. Mariana, 

Perhaps this miracle and its obvious interpre- 
tation, may have suggested to Florian the cir- 
cumstance by which his Gonsalvo is prevented 
from combating and killing the brother of his 
mistress. Florian was fond of Spanish literature 



56 METRICAL TALES. 

Who in rhe he ur of danger sii v'd him well. 
Dear George, the tale is true, and yet no mir- 
acle. 

1 am not one who scan with scornful eyes 
The dreams which make the enthusiast's 
best- delight ; 
Nor thou the legendary lore despise 
If of Gualberto yet again I write, 
How first impelled he sought tne convent cell; 
It is h simple *taie, an d one that piens'd me well. 

* LUmose e! loadre Guaberto, y era senor de 
Value-pesa, que esta entre Sena, y Floreacia's 
seguia la milicia ; y como le matasden un su 
deudo cercano injustamente, indignados, assi el 
hijo, que era ya hombre, como el p-ndre, con 
mucho cuydado buscavan ocasion, como vengar 
aquella muerte. Sucedjo, que viniendo a Flo- 
rencia el hi jo. con un criado suyo, hombre vali- 
ente, y tos dos bien armados, a cavallo, v!6 a su 
enemigo, y en lugar. que era impossible irseles: 
lo qual considc-ado por el contratio y que te- 
nia cierta su muerte, descendio de un cavallo 
en que venia, y puesto de rodillas J e idio, jun- 
tas, las manos, our Je^u-Christo crueificado. le 
perdonasse la vida Encernecio^e Juan Gual- 
berto, oyendo el nomh e de Jesu-Chnsto cru- 
eificado; y dixole, que por amor de aquel Senor, 



METRICAL TALES. 57 

Fortune had smiled upon Gualberto's birth, 
The heir of Valdespesa's rich domain. 

An only child, he grew in years and worth, 
And well repaid a father's anxious pain. 



que rogo en la Cruz por los que le pusieron en 
ella, el !e perdonava. Pidiole, que se levantas- 
se, y perdiesse el temor, que ya no por enemigo> 
sino por amrgo le queria, y que de Dios, por 
quien hacia esto, esperava el premio. Passo 
adelante Gualberto ; y viendo una Iglesia en un 
monte cerca de Florencia, llamada de San mi- 
niato, que era de Monges negros, entro en ella 
para dar gracias a Jesu Christo nuestro Senor 
por la merced, que le havia hecho en favore- 
cerle, de que perdonasse, y no tomasse vengan- 
za de su enemigo : pusose de rodillas delante de 
un Crucifixo, el qual, viendolo el, y otros que 
estrivan presentes, desde la Cruz inclino la ca« 
beza a Gualberto, como agradeciendo,y dandole 
gracias, de que por su amor huviesse perdonado 
la vida a su enemigo. Descubriose el caso, y 
fue publico, y muy celebrado, y el Crucifixo fue 
tenido en grande reverend a en aquella Iglesia 
de S, Miniato. Quedo Juan Gualberto de este 
acaecimiento, trocado en ?tro varon,y dti^r mi- 
no dexar el mundo, y las cosas percedar<>* de eL 
Flos Sansterum 



58 METRICAL TALES 

Oft had his sire in battle forc'd success, 
Well for hi* valour known, and known for 
haughtiness. 

It chanc'd that one in kindred near allied 

Was slain by his hereditary foe ; 
Much by his sorrow moved, and more by 
pride, 
The father vow'd that blood for blood 
should flow; 
Andfrom his youthGualbertohadbeen taught 
That with unceasing hate should just revenge 
be sought. 

Long did they wait; at length thetidings came 
That through a lone and unfrequented vvhv 
Soon would Anseimo, such the murderer's 
name, 
Pass on his journey home, an easy prey. 
" Go," cried the father, " meet him in the 
wood !'' 
And young Gualberto went, and laid in wait 
for blood. 

When now the youth was at the forest shade 
Arriv'd, it drew toward the close of day j. 

Anseimo haply might be long delay 'd, 
And he, already wearied with his way, 



METRICAL TALES. 59 

Beneath an ancient oak his limbs reclined, 
And thoughts of near revenge alone possess'd 
his mind. 

Slow sunk the glorious sun, a roseate light 
Spread o'er the forest from his lingering 
rays ; 
The glowing clouds upon Gualberto's sight 
Soften'd in shade, — he could not choose but 
gaze ; 
And now a placid greyness clad the heaven, 
Save where the west retain'd the last green light 
of even. 

Cool breath'd the grateful air, and fresher 
now 
The fragrance of the autumnal leaves 
arose, 
The passing gale scarce moved the o'erhang- 
ing bough, 
And not a sound disturb'd the deep repose, 
Save when a falling leaf came fluttering bv, 
Save the near brooklet's stream that murmur 'd 
quietly. 

Is there who has not felt the deep delight, 
The hush of soul, that scenes like these 
impari. ? 
The heajrt they will not soften, is not right, 



60 METRICAL TALES. 

And young Gualberto was not hard of 
heart. 
Yet sure he thinks revenge becomes him well, 
When from a neighbouring church he heard 
the vesper bell 

The Catholic who hears that vesper bell, 
Howe'er employed, must send a prayer to 
heaven. 
In foreign lands I liked the custom well, 
For with the calm and sober thoughts of 
even 
It we'I accords ; and wert thou journeying 
there, 
It would not hurt thee, George, to join that 
vesper-prayer. 

Gualberto had been duly taught to hold 

Each pious rite with most religious care, 
And, — for the young man's feelings were not 
cold, 
He never yet had mist his vesper-prayer. 
But strange misgivings now his heart invade, 
And when the vesper bell had ceas'd he had 
not pray'd. 

And wherefore was it that he had not pray'd? 

The sudden doubt arose within his mind, 
And many a former precept then he weigh 'd, 



METRICAL TALES, 61 

The words of him who died to save man- 
kind; 
How 'twas the meek who should inherit 
heaven, 
And man should man forgive, if he would be 
forgiven. 

Troubled at heart, almost he felt a hope 
That yet some chance his victim might 
delay. 
So as he mus'd, adown the neighbouring slope 

He saw a lonely traveller on his way ; 
And now he knows the man so much ab- 
horr'd, — 
His holier thoughts are gone, he bares the mur- 
derous sword. 

" The house of Valdespesa gives the blow ! 
" Go, and our vengeance to our kinsman 
tell ! »* — 
despair and terror seiz'd the unarm'd foe, 
And prostrate at the young man's knees 
he fell, 
f And stopt his hand and cried, " Oh, do not 

take 
" A wretched sinner's life ! mercy for Jesus 5 
sake!" 



62 METRICAL TALES. 

At that most blessed name, as at a spell, 
Conscience, the God within him, smote his 
heart. 
His hand, for murder rais'd, unharming fell* 
He felt cold sweat-drops on his foiehead 
start, 
A moment mute in holy horror stood, 
Then cried, " Joy, joy, my God ! I have not 
shed his blood I' 1 

He rais'd Anselmo up, and bade him live, 
And bless, for both preserved, that holy 
name ; 
And pray'd the astonish'd foeman to forgive 
The bloody purpose led by which he came. 
Then to the neighbouring church he sped 
away, 
His over-burden'd soul before his God to lay. 

He ran with breathless speed, — he reached 
the door, 
With rapid throbs his feverish pulses swell, 
He came to crave for pardon, to adore 
For grace vouchsafed; before the cross he 
fell, 
And rais'd his swimming eyes, and thought 
that fkere 
He saw the imaged Christ smile favouring on 
)iis prayer. 



METRICAL TALES, 63 

A blest illusion ! from that very night 

The monk's austerest life devout he led ; 
And still he felt the enthusiast's deep delight, 
And seraph-visions floated round his head; 
The joys of heaven foretasted fill'd his soul, 
And still the good man's name adorns the saint- 
ed roll. 



MONODRAMAS. 






w 

XIMALPOCA. 

Scene — The Temple of MexhH 



Subjects! friends! children! I may call you 

children 
For I have ever borne a father's love 
Towards you; it is thirteen years since first 
You saw me in the robes of royalty, — 
Since here the multitudes of Mexico 
Hail'd me their king. I thank, you friend^ 

that now, 
In equal numbers and with equal love, 
You come to grace my death. 

For thirteen years 
What I have been, ye know ; that with all cares 
That with all justice and all gentleness, 
Seeking your weal, I govern 5 d. Is there one 
Whom 1 have injured ? one whose just redres* 
I have denied, or baffled by delay ? 
Let him come forth, that so no evil tongue 
Speak shame of me hereafter O my people, 
Not by my sins have I drawn down upon me 
The wrath of Heaven. 



68 



MONODRAMAS. 



- The wrath is heavy on me ! 
Heavy ! a burthen more than I can bear ! 
I have endured contempt, insult and wrongs 
From that Acolhuan tyrant ! should I seek 
Revenge ? alas S my people, we are few, — 
Feeble our growing state ! it hath not yet 
Rooted itself to bear the hurricane ; 
It is the lion-cub that tempts not yet 
The tyger's full-aged fury. Mexicans, 
He sent to bid me wear a woman's robe ; — 
When was the day that ever I lookVi back 
in battle ? Mexicans, the wife. I loved, 
To taith and friendship trusted, in despite 
Of me, of heaven, he seized, and spurned her 

back 
Polluted! — coward villain! and he lurks 
Behind his armies and his multitudes 
And mocks my idle wrath l — it is not fit 
It is not possible that I should live ! 
Live ! and deserve to be the finger-mark 
Of slave-contempt ! his blood I cannot reach, 
But ^n my own all stains shall bejfcflacecl, 
It shall blot out the marks of infamy, 
Aful when the warriors of the days to come 
Tell of Ximalpoca, it shall be said 
He died the brave man's death ! 

Not of the God 
Unworthv, do I seek his altar thus, 



MONODRAMAS. 69 

A voluntary victim And perchance 
The sacrifice of life may profit ye, 
My people, tho' all living efforts fail'd 
By fortune not by fault. 

Cease your lament! 
And if your ill-doomed king deserved your 

love, 
Say of him to your children, he was one 
Who bravely bore misfortune ; who when life 
Became dishonour, shook his body off, 
And join'd the spirits of the heroes dead. 
Yes ! not in Miclanteuctii's dark abode 
With cowards shall your king receivehis doom ; 
Not in the icy caverns of the North 
Suffer thro' endless ages ! Ke shall join 
The spirits of the brave, with them at raorn 
Shall Hsus from the eastern gate of heaven, 
And follow thro' his fields of light the sun ; 
With them shall raise the song and weave the 

dance ; 
Sport in the stream of splendour ; company 
Down to the western palace of his rest 
The Prince of glory ; and with equal eye 
Endure his centered radiance. Not of you 
Forgetful ; O my people, even then ; 
But often in the amber cloud of noon 
DiffusM will I o'erspread vour summer fields. 



70 MONODRAMAS, 

And on the freshened maize and brightenmg 

meads 
Bhower plenty. 

Spirits of my vaiiaat sires, 
I come ! Mexitli, never at thy shrine 
Flow'd braver blood ! never a nobler heart 
Steam'd up its life to thee ! Priest of the God > 
Perform vour office ! 



MONODRAMAS. 



THE WIFE OF FERGUS. 



Fergusitis 3. periit veneno ab uxors dato. Alii scri- 
buns cum uxor s<spe exprobrasset ei matrimonii contemp- 
tum et pellicum greges, neque quicquam profecisset, tan* 
dem noctu dormientem ab ea strangulatum. Qu&stione 
de morte ejus habita cum amicorum plurimi insimular- 
entur, nee quisquam ne in gravissimis quidem tormeniis 
quicquam fatzretur , mulier, alioqui ferox^ totinnoxiorum 
capitum miserta, in medium processit, ac e superiors 
loco cadem a te factum confessa y ne ad ludibrium super' 
zsset, pectus cultro transf edit : quod ejus factum varie 
pro cuj usque ingenio est accept urn, ac perinde sermonihus 

celebratum. 

Buchanan, 

Scene— The Palace Court. The Queen speaking 
from the Battlements* 



Cease — cease your torments ! spare the suf- 
ferers ! 

Scotchmen, not theirs the deed ;— the crime 
was mine, 

Mine is the glory* 



72 MONODRAMAS. 

Idle threats ! I stand 
Secure. All access to these battlements 
Is barr'd 6eyond your sudden strength to force. 
And lo ! the dagger by which Fergus died ! 
Shane on ye Scotchmen, that a woman's hand 
Was left to do this deed ! Shame on ye Thanes, 
Who with slave-patience have so long endured 
The wrongs and insolence of tyranny ! 
Ye coward race ! — that not a husband's sword 
Smote that adulterous King ! that not a wife 
Revenged her own pollution ; in bis blood 
Wash'd her soul pure, and for the sin compell'd 
Aton'd by virtuous murder ! O my God ! 
Of what beast matter hast thou .uoulded them 
To bear with wrongs like these ? There was a 

time 
When if the Bard had feign'd you such a tale 
Your eyes had throbb'd with anger, and your 

hands 
In honest instinct would have graspt the sword. 
O miserable men, who have disgraced 
Your father's, whom your son's must blush to 

name ! 

Aye, — ye can threaten me ! ye can be brave 
In anger to a woman ! one whose virtue 
Upbraidsyourcowardvice; whose name willlive 
Honoured and prais'd in song, when not a hand 
Shall root from your forgotten monuments 



MONODRAMAS. ?3 

The cankering moss. Fools ! fools ! to think 

that death 
I* not a thing familiar to my mind ! 
As if I knew not what must consummate 
My glory ! as if ought that earth can give 
Could.tempt me to endure the load of life ! — 
Scotchmen ! ye saw when Fergus to the altar 
Led rae, his maiden queen. Ye blest methen,— 
F heard you bless me, — and I thought that 

Heaven 
Had heard you also and that I was blest,. 
For I loved Fergus. Bear me witness, God ! 
With what a sacred heart-sincerity 
My lips pronounced the unrecallable vow 
That made me his^ him mine ; bear witness 

Thou ! 
Before whose throne I this day must appear 
Stain'd with his blood and mine ! my heart was 

his, — 
His in the strength of all its first affections. 
In all obedience, in all love, I kept 
Holy my marriage vow. Behold me, Thanes ! 
Time hath not changed the face on which his 

eye 
So often dwelt, when with assiduous care 
He sought my love ; with seeming truth, fox* 

one, 
Sincere herself , impossible to doubt;. 



a 



7 4 MONODRAMAS. 

Time hath not changed that face 5 —I speak 

not now 
With pride of beauties that will feed the worm 
Tomorrow ! but with joyful pride I say 
That if the truest and most perfect love 
Deserved requital, such was ever mine. 
How often reeking from the adulterous bed 
Have I reeeived him ! and with 110 complaint. 
Neglect and insult, cruelty and scorn 
Long-, long did I endure, and long curb down 
The indignant nature. 

Tell your countrymen, 
Scotchmen, what I have spoken ! say ro them 
Ye saw the queen of Scotland lift the dagger 
Red from her husband's heart ; that in her own 
She plunged it. Stabs herself. 

Tell them also, that she felt 
No guilty fear in death. 



LUCRETIA. 
Scene, the house of COLLATING. 



Welcome, my father ! good Valerius, 
Welcome S and thou too, Brutus ! ye were both 
My wedding guests, and fitly ye are come. 
My husband— Coilatine — alas ! no more 



MONODRAMAS. 75 

Lucretia's husband, for thou shah not clasp 
Pollution to thy bosom, — hear me on ! 
For I will tell thee all. 

I sate at eve 
Spinning amid my maidens as I wont, 
When from the camp at Ardea Sextus came. 
Curb down thy swelling feelings, Collatine ! 
I little liked the man ! yet, for he came 
From Ardea, for he brought me news of thee. 
I gladly gave him welcome, gladly Hsten'd, — 
Thou canst not tell how gladly ! to his tales 
Of battles, and the long and perilous siege ; 
And when I laid me down at night to sleep, 
'Twas with a lighten 'd heart, — 1 knew thee safe^ 
My visions were of thee. 

Nay hear me out ! 
And be thou wise in vengeance, so thy wife 
Not vainly shall have suffered, f have wrought 
My soul up to the business of this hour 
That it may stir your noble spirits, prompt 
Such glorious deeds that ages yet unborn 
Shall bless my fate. At midnight 1 awoke, — 
The Tarquin was beside me ! O my husband ! 
Where, wert thou then ! gone was my rebel 

strength, — 
All power of utterance gone! astonish'd,stunn'd, 
I saw the coward ruffian, heard him urge 
His damned suit, and bid me tamely yield, — 
Yield to dishonour. When he preffer'd death,— 



76 MONODRAMAS. 

Oh I had leapt to meet the merciful sword ! 
But that with most accursed vows he vow'd 
That he would lay a dead slave by my side, 
Murdering my spotless honour. — Collatine ! 
From what an anguish have I rescued thee ! 
And thou my father, wretched as thou art, 
Thou miserable, childless, poor old man, — 
Think, father, what that agony had been ! 
New thou mayst sorrow for me, thou mayst 

bless 
The memory of thy poor, polluted child. 
Look, if it have Hot kindled Brutus' eye ! 
Mysterious man ! at last 1 know thee now, 
I see thy dawning glories ! — to the grave 
Not unrevenged Lucretia shall descend ; 
Not always shall her wretched country wear 
The Tarquins yoke ! ye will deliver Rome, 
And I have comfort in this dreadful hour. 
Think'st thou my husband, that 1 dreaded death 
O Collatine ! the weapon that had gored 
My bosom had been ease, been happiness, — 
Elysium, to the hell of his hot grasp. 
Judge if Lucretia could have fear'd to die [ 

Stabs herself. 



SONGS 



AMERICAN INDIANS. 



79 



THE HURON'S ADDRESS TO THE DEAD, 



Brother, thou wert strong in youth ! 
Brother, thou wert brave in war ! 
Unhappy man was he 
For whom thou hadst sharpened the tomahawk's 
edge ; 
Unhappy man was he 
On whom thine angry eye was fix'd in fight 
And he who from thy hand 
Received the calumet, 
Blest Heaven, and slept in peace. 
When the Evil Spirits seized thee, 
Brother, we were sad at heart : 
We bade the Jongler come 
And bring his magick aid ; 
We circled thee in mystick dance, 
With songs and shouts and cries. 
To free thee from their power. 
Brother, but in vain we strove, 
The number of thy days was full. 
Thou sittest amongst us on thy mat, 
The bear- skin from thy shoulder hangs, 
Thy feet are sandal'd, ready for the way* 
Those are the unfatiguable feet 



BO St)NGS 07 THE 

That traversed the forest track ; 
Those are the lips that late 
Thundered the yell of war ; 
And that is the strong right arm 
That never was lifted in vain. 
Those lips are silent now, 
The limbs that were active are stiff, 

Loose hangs the strong right arm : 
And where is that which in thy voice 
The language of friendship spake r 
That gave the strength of thine arm 
That nii'd thy limbs with life ? 
It was not thou^-for thou art here, 

Thou art amongst us still, 
But the life and the feeling are gone. 
The Iroquois will learn 
That thou hast ceas'd from war ; 
'Twill be joy like victory, 
For thou wert the scourge of their race. 
JBrother, we sing thee the song of -death : 
In thy coffin of baric we lay thee to rest ; 
The bow shall be placed by thy side, 
And the shafts that are pointed and feather'd 
for flight. 
To the country of the dead 
Long and painful is thy way ! 
Over rivers wide and deep 
3,ies the road that must be past, 



AMERICAN INDIANS, 81 

By bridges n arrow- wal I'd 
Where scarce the soul can force its way, 
While the loose fabrick totters under it. 

Safely may our brother pass J 
Safely may he reach the fields, 
Where the sound of the drum and the shell 
Shall be heard from the country of souls ' 
The spirits of thy sires 
Shall come to welcome thee ; 
The god of the dead in his bower 
Shall receive thee and bid thee join 
The dance of eternal joy. 

Brother, we pay thee the rites of death, 
Rest in the bower of delight ! 



THE PERUVIAN'S DIRGE OVER THE 
BOLT OF HIS FATHER. 



Rest in peace, my father, rest, 
With danger and toil have 1 borne thy corpse 
From the stranger's field of death. 
I bless thee, O wife of the sun, 
For veiling thy beams with a' cloud. 
While at the pious task 



82 SONGS OF THE 

Thy votary toil'd in fear. 
Thou badest the clouds of night 
Enwrap thee, and hide thee from man ; 
But didst thou not see my toil, 
And put on the darkness to aid, 
O wife of the visible god ? 

Wretched, my father, thy life ! 
Wretched the life of a slave ! 
All day for another he toils, 
Overwearied at night he lies down, 
And dreams of the freedom that he once en- 
joy'd. 
Thou wert blest in the days of thy youthr, 
My father ! for then thou wert free. 
In the fields of the nation thy hand 
Bore its part of the general task ; 
And when, with the song and the dance, 
Ye brought the harvest home, 
As all in the labour had shar'd, 
So justly they shar'd in the fruits. 

Thou visible lord of the earth, 

Thou god of my fathers, thou god of my heart.. 

O giver of light and of life ! 

When the strangers came to our shores, 

Why didst thou not put forth thy powers ? 

Thy thunders should then have been hurl'd. 

Thy fires should in lightnings have flash'd ! — 



AMERICAN INDIANS. 83 

Visible god of the earth, 
The strangers mock at thy might ! 
To figures and beams of wood 
They force us fro bow the knee ; 
They plunge us in caverns and dens, 
Where never thy blessed light 
Shines on our poisonous toil ! 
But not in the caverns and dens, 
O sun, are we mindless of thee ! 
We pine for the want of thy beams, 
We adore thee with anguish and groans. 

My father, rest in peace ! 

Rest with the dust of thy sires' 
They plac'd their cross in thy dying grasp, — 

They bore thee to their burial place, 

And over thy breathless frame 

Their bloody and merciless priest, 

Mumbled his mystery words. 

Oh ! could thy bones be at peace 

In the fields where the strangers are laid ? — 

Alone, in danger and in pain, 

My father, I bring thee here; 

So may our God, in reward, 

Allow me one faithful friend 
To lay me beside thee when I am released ! 

Bo may he release me soon, 

That my spirit may join thee there, 

Where the strangers never shall corn? * 



84 SONGS OF THE 

SONG OF THE ARAUCANS DURING A 
THUNDER STORM, 



The storm cloud grows deeper above ; 
Araucans ! the tempest is ripe in the sky ; 
Our forefathers come from their islands of bliss, 

They come to the war of the winds. 

The souls of the strangers are there, 
In their garments of darkness they ride thro* 

the heaven ; 
The cloud that so lurid rolls over the hill 

Is red with their weapons of fire. 

Hark ! hark ! in the howl of the wind 
The shout of the battle, the clang of their 

drums, 
The horsemen are met, and the shock of the 
fight 
Is the blast, that disbranches the wood. 

Behold from the clouds of their power 
The lightning, the lightning is lanced at our 

sires ! 
And the thunder that shakes the broad pave- 
ment of heaven 
And the darkness that quenches the day, 



AMERICAN INDIANS. 85 

Ye souls of our fathers be brave ! 
Ye shrunk not before the invaders on earth, 
Ye trembled not then at their weapons of fire 

Brave spirits, ye tremble not now ! 

We gaze on your warfare in hope, 
We send up our shouts to encourage your arms' 
Lift the lance of your vengeance O fathers 
with force. 

For the wrongsof your country strike home! 

Remember the land was your own 
When the sons of destruction came over the 

seas ; 
That the old fell asleep in the fullness of days 

And their children wept over their graves. 

Till the strangers came into the land 
With tongues of deceit and with weapons of 

fire, 
Then the strength of the people in youth was 
cut off, 
And the father wept over his son. 

It thickens — the tumult of fight, - 
Louder and louder the blast of the battle is 
heard, — 



86 SONGS OF THE 

i 

Remember the wrongs that your country en- 
dures S 
Remember the fields of your fame ! 

Joy I joy ! for the strangers recoil, — 
They give way, — they retreat to the land of 

their life ! 
Pursue them ! pursue them ! remember your 

wrongs ! 
■ Let your lances be drunk with their 

wounds. 

The souls of your wives shall rejoice 
As they welcome you back to your islands of 

bliss ; 
And the breeze that refreshes the toil-throbbing 
brow 
Waft hither the song of your praise. 



SONG OF THE CHIKKdSAH WIDOW. 



»Twas the voice of my husband that came on 

the gale, 
The unappeas'd spirit in anger complains 

Rest, rest, 011anahta,be still ! 

The day of revenge is at hands 



AMERICAN INDIANS. 87 

The stake is made ready, the captives shall die ; 

To-morrow the song of their death shalt thou 
hear, 
To-morrow thy widow shall wield 
The knife and the fire; — be at rest I 

The vengeance of anguish shall soon have its 
course, — 

The fountains of grief and of fury shall flow,— 
I will think Ollanahta! of thee, 
Will remember the days of our love. 

Olianahta, all day by thy war-pole I sat 
Where idly thy hatchet of battle is hung ; 
I gazed on the bow of thy strength 
As it waved on the stream of the wind. 

The scalps that we numbered in triumph were 

there, 
And the musket that never was levell'd in 
vain,— 
What a leap has it given to my heart 
To see thee suspend it in peace. 

When the black and blood-banner was spread to 

the gale, 
When thrice the deep voice of the war-drum 
was heard, 
I remember thy terrible eyes 
How they flash'dthe dark glance of thy joy. 



88 SONGS OF THE 

I remember the hope that shone over thy chee 
As thy hand from the pole reach'd its doers c 
death ; 
Like the ominous gleam of the cloud 
Ere the thunder and lightning are born. 

He went and ye came not to warn him u 
dreams, 

Kindred spirits of him who is holy and great I 
And where was thy warning, O Bird, 
The untimely announcer of ill. 

Alas ! when thy brethren in conquest return'd : 
"When I saw the white plumes bending over 
their heads 
And the pine-boughs of triumph before 
Where the scalps of their victory swung,— 

The war-hymn they pour'd, and thy voice was 

not there. 
I call'd thee,- — alas, the white deer-skin was- 
brought, 
And thy grave was prepar'd in the tent 
Which I had made ready for joy ! 

Ollanahta, all day by thy war-pole I sit, — 

Ollanahta, all night I weep over thy grave ? 

To morrow the victims shall die, 

And I shall have joy in revenge, 



AMERICAN INDIANS. 89 



THE OLD CHIKKASAH TO HIS GRAND- 
SON. 



Now go to the battle my boy I 

Dear child of my son 
There is strength in thine arm, 

There is hope in thy heart, 
Thou art ripe for the labours of war. 
Thy sire was a stripling like thee 
When he went to the first of his fields, 
'ie return'd, in the glory of conquest return'd, 

Before him his trophies were borne, 
"hese scalps that have hung till the sun and 
the rain 
Have rusted their raven locks, 
lere he stood when the morn of rejoicing 
arriv'd, 
The day of the warrior's reward ; 
When the banners sun-beaming were 

spread, 
And all hearts were dancing in joy 
To the sound of the victory drum, 
"he heroes were met to receive their reward ; 
lut distinguished among the young heroes that 
day, 
H 



90 SONGS OF THE, &C, 

The pride of his nation, thy father was seen 
The swan-feathers hung from his neck, 
His face like the rainbow was tinged, 
Aod his eye, — how it sparkled in pride ! 

The elders approach'd, and they placed on his 

brow 

The crown that his valour had won, 

And they gave him the old honour'd name, 

They reported the deeds he had done in the war. 
And the youth of the nation were told 
To respect him, and tread in his path. 

My boy ! I have seen, and with hope, 

The courage that rose in thine eye 

When I told thee the tale of his death. 

His war-pole now is grey wiih moss, 

His tomahawk red with rust, 

His bow-string whose twang was death 

Now sings as it cuts the wind, 

But his memory is fresh in the land 

And his name with the names that we 

iove. 
Go now and revenge him my boy ! 

That his spirit no longer may hover by day 
O'er the hut where his bones are at rest, 
Nor trouble our dreams in the night. 

My boy I shall watch for the warrior's return 
And my soul wili be sad 
Till the steps of thy coming I see. 



THE LOVE ELEGIES 

OF 

ABEL SHUFFLEBOTTOM. 



93 



ELEGT I. 



The Poet relates bow be obtained Delia's pocket-hand- 
kerchief. 



5 Tis mine ! what accents can my joy declare-? 

Blest be the pressure of the thronging rout ! 
Blest be the hand so hasty of my fair, . * 

That left the tempting corner hanging out I 

1 envy not the joy the pilgrim feels, 

After long travel to some distant shrine, 

When at the relick of his saint he kneels, 

For Delia's pocket-handkerchief is mine. 

When first with Jilching fingers I drew near, 
Keen hope shot tremulous thro' every vein, 

And when the finished deed removed my fear, 
Scarce could my bounding heart its joy 
contain , 

What tho' the eighth commandment rose to 
mind, 
It only served a moment's qualm to move, 
For thefts like this it could not be design'd, 
The eighth commandment WAS NOT MADE FOR 
LOVE, ! 



94? LOVE ELEGIES. 

Here when she took the macaroons from me, 
She wiped her mouth to clean the crumbs so 
sweet ; 

Dear napkin ! yes she wiped her lips in thee ! 
Lips siveeUr than the macaroons she eat. 

And when she took that pinch of Macabaw 
That made my love so delicately sneeze, 

Thee to her Roman nose applied I saw, 

And thou art doubly dear for things like 
these. 

No washerwoman's filthy hand shall e'er, 
Sweet pocket-handkerchief, thy worth 
profane ; 

For thou hast touched the rubies of my fair, 
And I will kiss thee o'er and o'er again. 



ELEGY II. 



The Poet invokes the Spirits of the Elements to 
approach Delia. He describes her singing. 



Ye Stlphs who banquet on my Delia'? biush, 
Who on her locks of floating gold repose, 



LOVE ELEGIES. 95 

Dip in her cheek your gossamery BRUSH, 

And with its bloom of beauty tinge the r©se« 

Hover around her lips on rainboiv iving, 

Load from her honeyed breath your viewless 
feet, 

Bear thence a richer fragrance for the spring, 
And make the lily and the violet sweet. 

Ye Gnomes, whose toil thro ! many a dateless 
year 

Its nurture to the infant gem supplies, 
From central caverns bring your diamonds here, 

To ripen in the sun of Delia's eyes. 

And ye who bathe in Etna's lava springs, 
Spirits of fire ! to see my love advance ; 

Fly, Salamanders, on Asbestos wings, 
To wanton in my Delia's jiery glance. 

She weeps, she weeps I her eye with anguish 

swells, 

Some tale of sorrow melts my feeling glrl ? 

Nymphs ! catch ihe tears, and in your lucid 

shells 

Enclose them, embryos of the orient 

PEARL. 

She sings ! the nightingale with envy hears, 
The cherubim bends from his starry throne' 



$6 LOVE ELEGIES. 

And motionless are stopt the attentive spheres, 
To hear more heavenly musick than their 
own. 

Cease, Delia, cease ! for all the angel throng, 
Listening to thee, let sleep their golden 
wires ! 
Cease, Delia, cease that too surpassing song, 
Lest, stung to envy 5 they should break their 
lyres. 

Cease, ere my senses are to madness driven 
By the strong joy ! cease, Delia, lest my soul 

Enwrapt, already think itself in heaven, 
And burst my feeble body's frail control. 



ELEGY JIT. 

The Poet expatiates on the beauty of Delia s hair. 



The comb between whose ivory teeth she strains 
The straightening curls of gold so beamy bright 

Not spotless merely from the touch remains, 
But issues forth more pure, more milky white* 



LOVE ELEGIES. §7 

The rgse-pomatum that the friseur spreads 
Sometimes with honour'd fingers for my fair. 

No added perfume on her tresses sheds, 
But Sorrows sweetness from her siveeter hair, 

Happy the friseur who in Delia's hair 

With licensed fingers uncontrol'd may rove, 

And happy in his death the dancing bear, 
Who died to make pomatum for my love* 

Oh could I hope that e'er my favoured lays 
Might curl those lovely locks with conscious 
pride, 
Nor Hammond, nor the Mantuan Shepherd's 
praise 
I'd envy then, nor wish reward beside, 

Cupid has strung for you, O tresses fine, 

The bow that in my breast impell'd his dart ; 

From you, sweet locks ! he wove the subtle line 
Wherewith the urchin angled for my heart* 

Fine are my Delia's tresses as the threads 
That from the silk-worm, self interred, pro- 
ceed ; 

Fine as the gleam y g6ssamer, that spreads 
Its filmy web-work o'er the tangled mead. 

Yet with these tresses Cupid's power elate 
My captive heart has handcuffed in a chain. 



98 LOVE ELEGIES. 

Strong as the cables of some huge first-rate, 
That beaks Britannia's thunders o'er 

THE MAIN. 

The sylphs that round her radiant locks repair, 
Iwjlo^ving lustre bathe their brightening wings; 

And elfin minstrels with assiduous care 
The ringlets rob for yavky jiddle-rfrings. 



ELEGT IV. 



Tie Pcet relates hoiv he stole a Lock of Delia's 
Hair y and her anger. 



flh \ Ite me day accurst that gave me birth j 
Ye seas, to swallow me in kindness rise ! 

Fall on me, mountains ! and thou merciful earth. 
Open, and hide me from my Delia's eyes ! 

Let universal Chaos now return, 

Now let the central fires their prison burst, 
And Earth and Heaven and Air and Ocean 
burn — 
For Delia frowns—she frowns, and I ion 
curst ? 



LOVE ELEGIES. 99 

Oh ! I could dare the fury of the fight, 

Wfeere hostile millions sought my single life ; 

Would storm volcano batteries with delight, 
And grapple with grim Death in glorious 
strife. 

Oh f I could brave the bolts of angry Jove, 
When ceaseless lightnings fire the midnight 
skies ! 

*What is his wrath to that of her I love ? 

What is his lightning to my Delia's eyes I 

Go, fatal lock ! I cast thee to the wind ; 

Ye serpent CURLS, ye poison-tendrils go, 
Would^I could tear thy memory from my mind 

Accursed lock,— thou cause of all my woe ! 

Seize the curst curls, ye Furies, as they fry ! 

Daemons of darkness, girard the infernal roll, 
That thence your cruel vengeance when I die 

May knit the knots of torture for my souL 

Last night, — Oh hear me, heaven, and grant my 
prayer ! 

The Book of Fate before thy suppliant lay* 
And let me from its ample records tear 

Only the single PAGE OF YESTERDAY ; 

Or let me meet oid Time upon his flight, 
And 1 will stop him on his restless way * 



100 LOVE ELEGIES. 

Omnipotent in Love's resistless might, 
I'll force bimhach the road of y&sterday. 

Last night, as o'er the page of Love's despair, 
My Delia bent deliriously to grieve ; ♦ 

I stood a treacherous loiterer by her chair, 
And drew the fatal scissars from my 

sleeve : 

And would that at that instant o'er my thread 
The shears of Atropos had open'd then ; 

And when I reft the lock from Delia's head, 
Had cut me sudden from the sons of men ! 

She heard the scissars that fair lock divide, 
And whilst my heart with transport panted 
big. 
She cast a fury frown on me, and cried, 

" You stupid puppy r-you have spoil'd my 
wig!" 

r 



SOAWETS. 



103 



SONNET J. 

O thou sweet Lark, that in the heaven so high 
Twinklest thy wings and singest merrily, 

I watch thee soaring with no mean delight, 
And when at last I turn mine aching eye 

That lags, how far below thy lofty flight, 
Still silently receive thy melody. 
O thou sweet Lark, that I had wings like thee ! 

Not for the joy it were in yon blue light 

Upward to plunge, and from thy heavenly 
height 
Gaze on the creeping multitude below, 

But that I soon would wing my eager flight 
To that loved place where Fancy even now 

Has fled, and Hope looks onward thro' a 
tear, 

Counting the weary hours that keep her here; 



SONNET II, 



Thou lingerest, Spring ! still wintry is the 
scene, 

The fields their dead and sapless russet wear ; 

Scarce does the glossy pile-wort yet appear 
Starring the sunny bank, or early green 



104 SONNETS. 

The elder yet its circling tufts put forth. 
The sparrow tenants still the eaves-built nest 
Where we should see our martins' snowy 

breast 
Oft darting out. The blasts from the bleak 

north 

And from the keener east still frequent blow. 

Sweet Spring, thou Hngerest ! and it should be 

so, — 

Late let the fields and gardens blossom out ! 

Like man when most with smiles thy face is 

drest, 
'Tis to deceive, and he who knows ye best, 
When most ye promise, ever most must 
doubt. 



SONN£T III. 

Beware a speedy friend, the Arabian said, 
And wisely was it he advised distrust. 
The flower that blossom? earliest fades the 
first. 
T^ook at yon oak that lifts its stately head 
And dallies with the autumnal storm, whose 
rage 
Tempests the ocean waves ; slowly it rose, 
Slowly its strength iscreas'd thro 5 many an age, 



SONNETS* 105 

And timidly did its light leaves unclose 
As doubtful of the spring, their palest green. 
They to the summer cautiously expand, 
And by the warmer sun and season bland 
Matured, their foilage in the grove is seen, 
When the bare forest by the wintry blast 
Is swept, till lingering on the boughs the last. 



SONNET jr. 



TO A GOOSE. 



]f thou didst feed on western plains of yore ; 

Or waddle wide with flat and flabby feet 
Over some Cambrian mountain's plashy n\oor ; 
Or find in farmer's yard a safe retreat 
From gipsey thieves, and foxes sly and fleet ! 
If thy grey quills by- lawyer guided, trace, 
Deeds big with ruin to some wretched race, 
Or love-sick poet's sonnet, sad and sweet, 
Wailing the rigour of some lady fair ; 
Or of the drudge of housemaid's daily toil, 
Cobwebs and dust thy pinions white besoil, 

Departed Goose ! I neither know nor care . 
But this I know, that thou wert very fine, 
§eason'd with sage, and onions, and port wine. 



106 SONNETS, 



SONNET V. 



1 marvel not, O Sun ! that unto thee 
In adoration man should bow the knee, 

And pour the prayer of mingled awe and love 
For like a God thou art, and on thy way 
Of glory sheddest with benignant ray, 

Beauty, and life, and joyance from above. 

No longer let these mists thy radiance shroud* 
These cold raw mists that chill the comfortless 

day ; 
But shed thy splendour thro' the opening cloud, 

And cheer the earth once more. The languid 
flowers 
Lie odourless, beat down with heavy rain, 

Earth asks thy presence, saturate with 
showers ; 
O Lord of Light ! put forth thy beams again, 

For damp and cheerless are the gloomy hours. 



SONNET VI. 



Fair be thy fortunes in the distant land, 
Companion of my earlier years and friend ! 

Go to the Eastern world and may the hand 
Of Heaven its blessing on thy labour send. 



SONNETS. 107 

And may T, if we ever more should meet, 

See thee with affluence to thy native shore 
Return 'd ; — I need not pray that I may greet 

The same untainted goodness as before. 
Long years must intervene before that day, 

And what the changes Heaven to each may 
send, 

It boots not now to bode. Oh early friend 
Assur'd, no distance e'er can wear away 
Esteem 16ng rooted, and no change remove 
The dear remembrance of the friend we love, 



SONNET VII. 
Farewell, my home, my home no longer now, 

Witness of many a calm and happy day ; 
And thou fair eminence, upon whose hrow 

Dwells the last sunshine of the evening ray. 
Farewell ! Mine eyes no longer shall pursue 

The westering sun beyond the utmost height. 

When slowly he forsakes the fields of light, 
No more the freshness of the falling dew, 
Cool and delightful here shall bathe my head, 

As from this western window dear, I lean, 

Listening the while I watch the placid scene, 
The martins twittering underneath the shed. 
Farewell my home S where many a day has past 
In joys whose loved remembrance long shall last. 



108 SONNETS. 



SONNET VI1L 



Porlock, thy verdant vale so fair to sight, 
Thy lofty hills with fern and furze so brown ; 
The waters that so musical roll down 

Thy woody glens, the traveller with delight 
Recalls to memory, and the channel grey 
Circling its surges in thy level bay. 

Porlock, I also shall forget thee not, 

Here by the unwelcome summer rain con- 
fined ; 
And often shall hereafter call to mind 

How here a patient prisoner, 'twas my lot 

To wear the lonely, lingering close of day, 
Making my Sonnet by the alehouse fire, 
Whilst Idleness and Solitude inspire 

Dull rhymes to pass the duller hours away, 
August 9, 1799- 



SONNET IX. 

Stately yon vessel sails adown the tide 

To some far-distant land adventurous bound; 

The sailors' busy cries from side to side 

Pealing among the echoing rocks resound : 

A patient, thoughtless, much-enduring band, 



SONNETS, 109 

Joyful they enter on their ocean way, 
With shouts exulting leave their native land, 

And know no care beyond the present day. 
But is there no poor mourner left behind, 

Who sorrows for a child or husband there ? 
Who at the howling of the midnight wind 

Will wake and tremble in her boding prayer ? 
So may her voice be heard, and Heaven be 
kind !— 

Go, gallant ship, and be thy fortune fair ! 



SONNET X. 

O God ! have mercy in this dreadful hour 
On the poor mariner! in comfort here 
Safe sheltered a3 t am, I almost fear 

The blast that rages with resistless power. 
What were it now to toss upon the waves,—- 

The maddened waves and know no succour near; 

The howling of the storm alone to hear 

And the wild sea that to the tempest raves ; 

To gaze amid the horrours of the night • 

And only see the billow's gleaming light ; 
Amid the dread of death to think of her 

Who as she listens sleepless to the gale 

Puts up a silent prayer and waxes pale ? 
O God have mercy on the mariner I 



110 SONNETS. 



SOXNET XL 

She comes majestick with her swelling sails 
The gallant bark ; along her watery way 

Homeward she drives before the favouring 
gales ; 
Now flirting- at theirlength the streamers play 

And now they ripple with the ruffling breeze. 
Kark to the sailors' shouts! therocks rebound 
Thundering in echoes to the jo) ful sound. 

Long have they voyaged o'er the distant seas, 
And what a heart-delight they feel at last, 
So many toils, so many dangers past, 

To view the port desir'd, he only knows 
Who on the stormy deep for many a day 
Hath tost, aweary of his ocean way, 

And watch'd all anxious every wind that blows. 



SONNET XII 

A wrinkled, crabbed man they picture threfc, 
Old Winter, with a rugged beard as grey- 
As the long moss upon the apple-tree ; 
Blue lipt, an ice drop at thy sharp blue nose, 

Close muffted up, and on thy dreary way, 
Plodding aione thro* sleet and drifting snows. 



SONNETS. Ill 

They should have drawn thee by the high-heapt 
hearth , 

Old Winter! seated in thy great arm'd chair, 
Watching the children at their Christmas mirth, 

Or circled by them as thy lips declare 
Some merry jest or tale of murder dire, 

Or troubled spirit that disturbs the night, 
Pausing at times to move the languid n^e, 

Or taste the old October brown and bright. 



ANOMALIES. 



115 



SNUFF. 



A delicate pinch 1 oh how it tingles up 
The titillated nose ; and fills the eyes 
And breast, till in one comfortable sneeze 
The full collected pleasure bursts at last ! 
Most rare Columbus ! thou shalt be for this 
The only Christopher in my kalendar. 
Why but for thee the uses of the nose 
Were half unknown, and its capacity 
Of joy. The summer gale that from the heath, 
At midnoon glittering, with the golden furze, 
Bears its balsamick odour, but provokes 
Not satisfies the sense ; and all the flowers, 
That with their unsubstantial fragrance tempt 
And disappoint, bloom for so short a space, 
That half the year the nostrils would keep lent, 
But that the kind tobacconist admits 
No winter in his work ; when nature sleeps 
His wheels roll on, and still administer 
A plenitude of joy, a tangible smell. 

What is Peru and those Golcondan mines 
To thee, Virginia ? miserable realms ! 
They furnish gold for knaves and gems for fools - 
But thine are common comforts ! to omit 



116 ANOMALIES. 

Pipe*panegyric and tobacco praise, 

Think what the general joy the snuff-box gives, 

Europe, and far above Pizarro's name 

Write Raleigh in thy records of renown ! 

Him let the school-boy bless if he behold 

His master's box produced, for when he sees 

The thumb and finger of authority 

Stuft up the nostrils ; when hat, head, and wig 

Shake all ; when on the waistcoat black the dust 

Or drop falls brown ; soon shall the brow severe 

Relax, and from vituperative lips 

Words that of birch remind not : soundsof praise, 

And jokes that must be laugh'd at shall proceed. 



COOL REFLECTIONS DURING A MID- 
SUMMER WALK. 



O spare me- — spare me, Phoebus ! if indeed 
Thou hast not let another Phaeton 
Drive earthward thy fierce steeds and fiery car; 
Mercy ! I melt ! I melt ! no tree, no bush, 
No shelter ! not a breath of stirring air 
East, West, or North, or South! dear god of day, 
Put on thy night-cap ! crop thy locks of light j 
And be iathe fashion ! turn thy back upon us, 



ANOMALIES. 1 17 

And let thy beams flow upward ! make it night 
Instead of noon ! one little miracle, 
In pity, gentle Phoebus ! 

What a joy, 
Oh what a joy to be a seal and flounder 
On an ice-island ! or to have a den 
With the white bear, cavern'd in polar snow ! 
It were a comfort to shake hands with death,— 
He has a rare cold hand ! to wrap one's self 
In the gift shirt Deianeira sent, 
Dipt in the blood of Nessus, just to keep 
The sun off; or toast cheese for Beelzebub, 
That were a cool employment to this journey 
Along a road whose white intensity 
Would now make platina uncon gel able 
Like quicksilver. 

Were it midnight, I should walk 
Self-lanthorn'd, saturate with sun-beams. Jove ! 
O gentle Jove ! have mercy, and onee more 
Kick that obdurate Phoebus out of heaven ! 
Give Boreas the wind-cholick, till he roars 
For Cardamum, and drinks down peppermint, 
Making what's left as precious as Tokay. 
Send Mercury to salivate the sky 
Till it dissolves in rain. O gentle Jove ! 
But some such little kindness to a wretch 
Who feels his marrow spoiling his best coat,— 
Who swells with calorique as if a Prester 
Had leavened every limb with poison-yeast ; — 



118 ANOMALIES. 

Lend me thine eagle just to flap his wings, 
And fan me, and I will build temples to thee, 
And turn true Pagan. 

Not a cloud nor breeze, — 
i you most heathen deities ! if ever 
My bones reach home (for, for the flesh upon 

them, 
That hath resolved itself into a dew,) 
1 shall have learnt owl-wisdom. Thou vile 

Phoebus, 
Set me a Persian sun-idolater 
Upon this turnpike road, and I'll convert him 
With no inquisitorial argument 
But thy own fires. Now woe be to me wretch 
That I was in a heretick country born ! 
Else might some mass for the poor souls that 

bleach, 
And burn away the calx of their offences 
In that great purgatory crucible, 
Help me. O Jupiter ! my poor complexion ! 
I am made a copper-Indian of already, 
And if no kindly cloud will parasol me, 
My very cellular membrane will be changed, — 
I shall be negrofied. 

A brook ! a brook ! 
Oh what a sweet cool sound ! 

'Tis very nectar ! 
It runs like life thro' every strengthen'd limb ! 
Nymph of the stream, now take a grateful 

prayer. 



ANOMALIES. 119 

THE PIG. 

A COLLOQUIAL POEM, 



Jacob ! I do not love to see thy nose 
Turned up in scornful curve at yonder Pig. 
It would be well, my friend, if we, like him 
Were perfect in our nature ! why dislike 
The sow-born grunter ? — He is obstinate, 
Thou answerest ; ugly, and the filthiest beast 
That banquets upon offal. Now I pray you 
Hear the pig's counsel. 

Is he obstinate ? 
We must not, Jacob, be deceived by words, 
By sophist sounds. A democratick beast 
He knows that his unmerciful drivers seek 
Their profit and not his. He hath not learnt 
That pigs were made for man, born to be 

brawnM 
And baconized ; that he must please to give 
Just what his gracious masters please to take ; 
Perhaps his tusks, the weapons nature gave 
For self-defence, the general privilege ; 
Perhaps, hark Jacob! dost thou hear that horn ? 
Woe to the young posterity of pork 7 
Their enemy is at hand. 



120 ANOMALIES. 

Again. Thou say'st 
The pig is ugly. Jacob, look at him ! 
Those eyes have taught the lover flattery. 
His face, — nay Jacob, Jacob ! were it fair 
To judge a lady in her dishabille ? 
Fancy it drest, and with salt-petre rouged. 
Behold his tail, my friend ; with curis like that 
The wanton hop marries her stately spouse ; 
So crisp in beauty Amoretta's hair 
Rings round her lover's soul the chains of love* 
And what is beauty, but the aptitude 
Of parts harmonious ? give thy fancy scope 
And thou wilt find that no imagined change 
Can beautify this beast. Place at his end 
The starry glories of the peacock's pride ; 
Give him the swan's white breast; for his horn- 
hoofs 
Shape such a foot and ankle as the waves 
Crowded in eager rivalry to kiss, 
When Venus from the enamour 'd sea arose ; — 
Jacob, thou can'st but make a monster of him, 
All alteration man could think, would mar 
His pig-perfection. 

The last charge,— he lives 
A dirty life. Here 1 could shelter him 
With noble and right-reverend precedents, 
And show by sanction of authority 
That 'tis a very honourable thing 
To thrive by dirty ways. But Jet me rest 



ANOMALIES. 121 

On better ground the unanswerable defence. 

The pig is a philosopher, who knows 

No prejudice. Dirt ? Jacob, what is dirt ? 

[f matter, why the delicate dish that tempts 

An o'ergorged epicure to the last morsel 

That stuffs him to the throat-gates is no more* 

[f matter be not, but as sages say, 

Jpirit is all, and all things visible 

\re one, the infinitely modified, 

Think, Jacob, what that pig is, and the mire 

therein he stands knee-deep ? 

And there ! that breeze 
Pleads with me, and has won thee to the smile 
That speaks conviction. O'er yon blossom'd 

field 
)f beans it came, and thoughts of bacon rise. 



THE DANCING BEAR. 
Recommended to the Advocates for the Slave-Trade* 



lare musick! I would rather hear cat-courtship 
Jnder my bed-room window in the night, 
"han this scraped cat-gut's screak. Rare danc- 
ing too ! 
k.las poor Bruin ! How he foots the pole, 

L 



122 _ ANOMALIES* 

And waddles round it with unwieldy steps 
Swaying from side to side! — The dancing master 
Hath had as profitless a pupil in him 
As when he would have tortured my poor toes 
To minuet grace, and made them move like 

clock-work. 
In musical obedience. Bruin ! Bruin ! 
Thou art but a clumsy biped ! — and the mob 
With noisy merriment mock his heavy pace, 
And laugh to see him led by the nose ;-~-them- 

selves 
Led by the nose, embruted, and in the eye 
Of reason from their nature's purposes 
As miserably perverted. 

Bruin-Bear. 
Now could 1 sonnetize thy piteous plight, 
And prove how much my sympathetick heart- 
Even for the miseries of a beast can feel, 
In fourteen lines of sensibility. 
But we are told all things were made for man; 
And I'll be sworn there's not a fellow here 
"Who would not swear 'twere hanging blasphemy 
To doubt that truth. Therefore as thou wert 

born, 
Bruin ! for man, and man makes nothing of thee 
In any other way,— most logically 
It follows, that thou must be born to dance ; 
That that great snout of thine was fornt'd oft 
purpose 



ANOMALIES. 123 

To hold a ring ; and that thy fat was given thee 
Only to make pomatum ! 

To demur 
Were heresy. And politicians say, 
(Wise men who in the scale of reason give 
No foolish feelings weight,) that thou art here 
Far happier than thy brother bears who roam 
O'er trackless snow for food ; that being born 
Inferiour to thy leader, unto him 
Rightly belongs dominion ; that the compact 
Was made between ye, when thy clumsy feet 
First fell into the snare, and he gave up 
His right to kill, conditioning thy life 
Should thenceforth be his property : — besides, 
*Tis wholesome for thy morals to be brought 
From savage climes into a civilized state, 
Into the decencies of Christendom — 
Bear ! Bear ! it passes in the parliament 
For excellent logick this ! what if we say 
How barbarously man abuses power, 
Talk of thy baiting, it will be replied, 
Thy welfare is thy owner's interest, 
But wert thou baited it would injure thee, 
Therefore thou art not baited For seven years> 
Hear it, O heaven, and give ear O earth ! 
For seven long years this precious syllogism 
Hath baffled justice and humanity \ 



124 ANOMALIES. 



THE FILBERT. 



Nay, gather not that filbert, Nicholas, 
There is a maggot there, — it is his house,—- 
His castle, — oh commit not burglary ! 
Strip him not naked, 'tis his cloaths, his shell, 
His bones, the case and armour of his life, 
And thou shalt do no murder, Nicholas ! 
It were an easy thing to crack that nut 
Or with thy crackers or thy double teeth, 
So easily may all things be destroyed ! 
But 'tis not in the power of mortal man 
To mend the fracture of a filbert shell. 
There were two great men once amused them- 
selves 
Watching two maggots run their wriggling race 
And wagering on their speed ; but Nic, to us 
It were no sport to see the pampered worm 
Roll out and then draw in his folds of fat, 
Like to some barber's leathern powder bag 
Wherewith he feathers, frosts, or cauliflower* 
Spruce beau, or lady fair, or doctor grave. 
Enough of dangers and of enemies 
Hath nature's wisdom for the worm ordained, 
Increase not thou the number f him the mouse 



ANOMALIES. 125 

Gnawing with nibbling tooth the shell's defence, 

May from his native tenement eject ; 

Him may the nut-hatch, piercing with strong 

bill, 
Unwittingly destroy ; or to his hoard 
The squirrei bear, at leisure to be crack'd. 
Man also hath his dangers and his foes 
As this poor maggot hath, and when I muse 
Upon the aches, anxieties and fears, 
The maggot knows not, Nicholas, methinks 
It were a happy metamorphosis 
To be enkernelled thus : never to hear 
Of wars, and of invasions, and of plots, 
Kings, jacobins, and tax-commissioners ; 
To feel no motion but the wind that shook 
The filbert tree, and rock'd me to my rest ; 
And in the middle of such exquisite food 
To live luxurious ! the perfection this 
Of snugness ; it were to unite at once 
Hermit retirement, aldermanick bliss, 
And stoick independence of mankind. 






MISCELLANIES. 



129 



GOOSEBERRY PIE. 

A P1NDARICK ODE. 



Gooseberry pie is best. 

Full of the theme, O muse, begin the song ! 
What tho' the sunbeams of the west 
Mature within the turtle's breast 

Blood glutinous and fat of verdant hue ? 

What tho' the deer bound sportively along 
O'er springy turf, the park's elastick vest ? 

Give them their honours due,— 
But Gooseberry pie is best. 

Behind his oxen slow 

The patient ploughman plods. 

And as the sower followed by the clods 
Earth's genial womb received the swelling seed. 
The rains descend, the grains they grow ; 

Saw ye the vegetable ocean 

Roil its green billows to the April gale ? 
The ripening gold with multitudinous motion 

jSway o'er the summer vale ? 

H flows thro' alder banks along 

Beneath the copse that hides the hill ; 
The gentle stream you cannot see* 



130 MISCELLANIES. 

You only hear its melody, 

The stream that turns the mill. 
Piss on, a little way pass on, 
And you shall catch its gleam anon ; 
And hark! the loud and agonizing groan 
That makes its anguish known, 
Where tortur'd by the tyrant lord of meal 
The brook is broken on the wheel 1 

Blow fair, blow fair, thou orient gale 1 
On the white bosom of the sail 

Ye winds enamour'd, lingering lie 1 
Ye waves of ocean, spare the bark ! 

Ye tempests of the sky ! 
From distant realms she comes to bring 

The sugar for my pie. 
For this on Gambia's arid side 

The vulture's feet are scaled with blood, 
And Beelzebub beholds with pride, 

His darling planter brood. 

First in the spring thy leaves were seen, 
Thou beauteous bush, so early green ! 
Soon ceas'd thy blossom's little life of love. 
O safer than the Alcides-conquer'd tree 
That grew the pride of that Hesperian grove, 

No dragon does there need for thee 
With quintessential sting to work alarms, 

And guard thy fruit so fine, 



MISCELLANIES. 131 

Thou vegetable porcupine ! 
And didst thou scratch thy tender arms, 
O Jane! that I should dine ! 

The flour, the sugar, and the fruit, 
Commingled well, how well they suit, 

And they were well bestow'd. 
O Jane, with truth I praise your pie., 
And will not you in just reply 
Praise my Pindarick Ode ? 



THE BATTLE OF PULTQWA. 



On Vorska's glittering waves 
The morning sun-beams play ; 
Pultowa's walls are throng'd 
With eager multitudes ; 
Athwart the dusty vale 
They strain their aching eyes, 
Where to the fight moves on 
The conqueror Charles, the iron-hearted Swede. 

Him famine hath not tamed 
The tamer of the brave ; 
Him winter hath not quell'd^ 
When man by man hit veteran troops sunk down ; 



132 MISCELLANIES, 

Frozen to their endless sleep, 
He held undaunred on ; 
Him pain hath not subdued. 
What tho' he mounts not now 
The fiery steed of war, 
Borne on a litter to the fight he goes. 

Go, iron-hearted king ! 

Full of thy former fame. 

Think how the humbled Dane 

Crouch'd to thy victor sword ; 

Think how the wretched Pole 

Resign'd his conquer'd crown ; 

Go, iron hearted king ! 
Let Narva's glory swell thy haughty breast,— 
The death day of thy glory, Charles, hath 
dawn'd ; 

Proud Swede, the sun hath risen 

That on thy shame shall set ! 

Now bend thine head from heaven, 
Now, Patkul, be revenged ! 
For o'er that bloody Swede 
Ruin hath rais'd his arm ; 
For ere the night descends, 
His veteran host subdued, 
His laurels blasted to revive no more, 
He flies before the foe I 



MISCELLANIES. 133 

Long years of hope deceived 
That conquered Swede must prove ; 
Patkul, thou art, avenged ! 
Long years of idleness 
That restless soul must bear ; 
Patkul, thou art avenged ! 
The despot's savage anger took thy life, 
Thy death has stabb'd his fame. 



THE DEATH OF WALLACE. 



Joy, joy in London now ! 
He goes, the rebel Wallace goes to death, 
At length the traitor meets the traitor's doom, 

Joy, joy in London now ! 

He on a sledge is drawn, 
His strong right arm unweapon'd and in chains, 
And garlanded around his helmless head 

The laurel wreath of scorn. 

They throng to view him now 
Who in the field had fled before his sword, 
Who at the name of Wallace once grew pale 

And faltered out a prayer. 



2S4 MISCELLANIES, 

Yes, they can meet his eye, 
That only beams with patient courage now 
Yes, they can gdze upon those manly limbs. 

Defenceless now and bound. 

And that eye did not shrink 
As he beheld the pomp of infamy ; 
Nor did one rebel feeling shake those limbs 

When the last moment came. 

What tho' suspended sense 
Was by their damned cruelty revived, 
What tho* ingenious vengeance lengthened life 

To feel protracted death ; 

What tho* the hangman's hand 
Graspt in his living breast the heaving heart, — 
In the last agony, the last sick pang, 

Wallace had comfort stilL 

He called to mind his deeds 
Done for his country in the embattled field ; 
He thought of that good cause for which he died 

And that was joy in death ! 

Go, Edward, triumph now ! 
Cambria is fallen, and Scotland's strength is 

crush'd ; 
On Wallace, on Llewellyn's mangled limbs 

The fowls of heaven have fed. 



MISCELLANIES. 135 



Unrivalled, unopposed, 
Go, Edward, full jof glory to thy grave ! 
The weight of patriot blood upon thy soul 

Go, Edward, to thy God ! 



TO A FRIEND, 

JfLnquiring if I ivould live over my yeuth again. 



Do I regret the past ? 

Wouid I again live o'er 

The morning hours of life ? 

Nay, William ! nay, not so ! 
In the warm joyance of the summer sun 

I do not wish again 

The changeful April day. 

Nay, William ! nay, nor so ! 

Safe haven'd from the sea 

I would not tempt again 

The uncertain ocean's wrath. 
Praise be to him who made me what I am, 

Other I would not be. 

Why is it pleasant then to sit and talk 
Of days that are no more ? 
When in kis own dear home 



186 MISCELLANIES. 

The traveller rests at last, 
And tells how often in his wanderings 

The thought of those far off 

Hath made his eyes o'erflow 

With no unmanly tears ; 

Delighted he recalls 
Thro' what fair scenes his charmed feet have 

trod. 
But ever when he tells of perils past, 

And troubles now no more, 
His eyes most sparkle, and a readier joy 

Flows rapid to his heart. 

No, William ! no, I would not live again 

The morning-hours of life, 

I would not be again 

The slave of hope and fear, 

I would not learn again 
The wisdom by experience hardly taught. 

To me the past presents 

No object for regret ; 

To me the present gives 

All cause for full content; 
The future, — it is now the cheerful noon, 
And on the sunny-smiling fields I gaze 

With eyes alive to joy ; 

When the dark night descends, 
I willingly shall close my weary lids 

Secure to wake again. 



MISCELLANIES. 137 



THE DEAD FRIEND. 



Not to the grave, not to the grave, my sou1 5 

Descend to contemplate 

The form that once was dear ! 
Feed not on thoughts so loathly horrible! 

The spirit is not there 

That kindled that dead eye, 

That throbb'd in that cold heart ? 

That in that motionless hand 

Has met thy friendly grasp. 

The spirit is not there ! 
It is but lifeless, perishable, flesh 

That moulders in the grave, 
Earth, air and waters ministering particles 

Now to the elements 

Resolv'd, their u*es done. 
Not to the grave, not to the grave, my soul, 

Follow thy friend beloved, 

The spirit is not there ! 

Often together have we talk'd of death ; 
How sweet it were to see 
All doubtful things made clear; 
How sweet it were with powers 4 
Such as the cherubim, 
M 



138 MISCELLANIES. 

To view the depth of heaven ! 

Edmund ! thou hast first 
Begun the travel of eternity ! 

1 gaze amid the stars, 

And think that thou art there, 
Unfettered as the thought that follows thee. 



And we have often said how sweet it were 
With unseen mini-try of angel power 

To watch the friends we loved. 

Edmund ! we did not err ! 
Sure I have felt thy presence ! thou hast given 

A birth to holy thought, 
Hast kept me from the world unstain'd and pure. 

Edmund ! we did not err ! 

Our best affections here 
They are not like the toys of infancy; 

The soul outgrows them not, 

We do not cast them off; 

Oh if it could be so 

It were indeed a dreadful thing to die ! 

Not to the grave, not to the grave, my soul. 

Follow thy friend beloved f 

Bat in the lonely hour, 

But in the evening walk, 
Think that he companies thy solitude; 



MISCELLANIES. 139 

Think that he holds with thee 
Mysterious intercourse; 
And tho' remembrance wake a tear 
There will be joy in grief. 



HISTORY. 



Thou chronicle of crimes ! I read no more ' r 
For I am one who willingly would love 
His fellow kind. O gentle poesy, 
Receive me from the court's polluted scenes, 
From dungeon horrours, from the fields of war, 
Receive me to your haunts, — that I may nurse 
My nature's better feelings, for my soul 
Sickens at man's misdeeds ! , 

I spake, when lo ! 
There stood before me in her majesty, 
Clio, the strong-eyed muse. Upon her brow 
Sate a calm anger. Go, young man, she cried, 
Sigh among myrtle bowers, and let thy soul 
KlTuse itself in strains so sorrowful sweet, 
That love sick maids may weep upon thy page 
In most delicious sorrow. Oh shame ! shame ! 
Was it for this 1 waken'd thy young mind ? 
Was it for this I made thy swelling heart 



140 MISCELLANIES. 

Throb at the deeds of Greece, and thy boy's eye 
So kindle when that glorious Spartan died ? 
Boy ! boy ! deceive me not ! what if the tale 
Of murder'd millions strike a chilling pang. 
What if Tiberius in his island stews, 
And Philip at his beads, alike inspire 
Strong anger and contempt ; hast thou not risen 
With nobler feelings ? with a deeper love 
For freedom ? Yes, most righteously thy soul 
Loathes the black history of human crimes 
And human misery ! let that spirit fill 
Thy song, and it shall teach thee boy ! to raise 
Strains such as Cato might have deign'd to hear, 
As Sidney in his hall of bliss may love. 



THE SOLDIER'S FUNERAL. 



It is the funeral march. I did not think 
That there had beeusuch magickin sweet sounds! 
Hark! from the blacken'd cymbal that dead 

tone, — 
It awes the very rabble multitude, 
They follow silently, their earnest brows 
Lifted in solemn thought. 'Tis not the pomp 
And pageantry of death that with such force 



MISCELLANIES, 141 

Arrests the sense ; — the mute and mourning 

train, 
The white plume nodding o'er the sable hearse, 
Had past unheeded, or perchance awoke 
A serious smile upon the poor man's cheek 
At pride's last triumph. Now these measur'd 

sounds 
This universal language, to the heart 
Speak instant, and on ail these various minds 
Compel one feeling. 

But such better thoughts 
Will pass away, how soon ! and these who here 
Are following their dead comrade to the grave, 
Ere the night fall, will in their revelry- 
Quench all remembrance. From the ties of life 
Unnaturally rent, a man who knew 
No resting place, no dear delights of home, 
Belike who never saw his children's face, 
Whose children knew no father; he is gone, 
Dropt from existence, like the withered leaf 
That from the summer tree is swept away, 
Its loss unseen. She hears not of his death 
Who bore him, and already for her son 
Her tears of bitterness are shed .♦ when first 
He had put on the livery of blood, 
She wept him dead to her. 

We are indeed 
Clay in the potter's hand ! one favour'd mind 



14-2 MISCELLANIES. 

Scarce lower than the Angels, shall explore 
The ways of Nature, whilst his fellow-man 
Fram'd with like miracle the work of God, 
Must as the unreasonable beast drag on 
A life of labour ; like this soldier here, 
His wondrous faculties bestow'd in vain, 
Be moulded by his fate till he becomes 
A mere machine of murder. 

And there are 
Who say that this is wclH as God has made 
All tilings for man's good pleasure, so cf iv.cn 
The many for the few ; court-moralists, 
Reverend iip-comforteis that once a week 
Proclaim how blessed are the poor, for they 
Shall have their wealth hereafter, and tho' now 
Toiling and troubled, tho' they pick the crumbs 
That from the rich man's table fail, at length 
In Abraham's bosom rest with Lazarus. 
Themselves meantime secure their good things 

here 
And feast with Dives. These are they, O Lord, 
Who in thy plain and simple gospel see 
All mysteries, but who find no peace enjoined. 
No brotherhood, no wrath denounced on them 
Who shed their brethren's blood, blind at noon 

day 
As owls, lynx-eyed in darkness ! 

O my God ! 
i thank thee, with no pharisaick pride 



MISCELLANIES. 143 

! thank thee that 1 am not such as these, 
I thank thee for the eye that sees, the heart 
That feels, the voice that in these evil day* 
Amid these evil tongnes, exalts itself 
And cries aloud against iniquity. 



TO A SPIDER. 



Spider ! thou need'st not run in fear about 

To shun my curious eyes ; 
I won't humanely crush thy bowels out 

Lest thou should'st eat the flies ; 
Nor will I roast thee with a damn'd delight 
Thy strajpge instinctive fortitude to see, 
For there is one who might 
One day roast me. 

Thou art welcome to a rhymer sore-perplext, 

The subject of his verse : 
There's many a one who on a better text 

Perhaps might comment worse. 
Then shrink not, old free-mason, from my view, 
But quietly like me spin out the line ; 
Do thou thy work pursue 
As I will mine, 



144- MISCELLANIES* 

Weaver of snares, thou emblemest the ways 

Of S.ttan, sire of lies ; 
Hell's huge black Spider, for mankind he lays 

His toils, as thou for flies. 
When Betty's busy eye runs round the room 
Woe to that nice geometry, if seen ! 
But where is he whose broom 
The earth shall clean ? 

Spider ! of old thy flimsy webs were though 

And 'twas a likeness true, 
To emblem laws in which the weak are caugh 

But which the strong break through. 
And if a victim in thy toils is ta'en, 

Like some poor client is that wretched fly 
I'll warrant thee thou'lt drain 
His life-blood dry. 

And is not thy weak work like human schem 

And care on earth employ'd ? 
Such are young hopes, and Love's delightf 
dreams 
So easily destroyed ! 
So does the statesman, whilst the avengersslee 
Self-deem'd secure, his wiles in secret lay, 
Soon shall destruction sweep 
His work away. 
Thou busy labourer ! one resemblance more 

Shall yet the verse prolong, 
for Spider, thoaart like the poet poor>. 



MISCELLANIES, 145 

Whom thou hast help'd in song. 
Both busily our needful food to win, 
We work as nature taught, with ceaseless 
pains, 
Thy bowels thou dost spin, 
I spin my brains. 






THE OAK OF OUR FATHERS. 

Alas for the Oak of our Fathers that stood 
In its beauty ; the glory and pride of the wood! 

It grew and it flourish'd for many an age, 
And many a tempest wreak'd on it its rage, 
But when its strong branches were bent with 

the blast, 
It struck its roots deeper, and flourish'd more 

fast. 

Its head tower'd high, and its branches spread 

round, 
For its roots were struck deep, and its heart was 

sound ; 
The bees o'er its honey-dew'd foliage play'd, 
And the beasts of the forest fed under its shade 



146 MISCELLANIES. 

The Oak of our Fathers to Freedom was dear, 
Its leaves were her crown, and its wood was her 

spear. 
Alas for the Oak of our Fathers that stood 
In its beauty, the glory and pride of the wood f 

There crept up an ivy and clung round the 

trunk, 
It struck in its mouths and its juices it drunk 
The branches grew sickly deprived of their 

food, 
And the Oak was no longer the pride of the 

wood. 

The foresters saw and they gather'd around 
Its roots still were fast, and its heart still was 

sound ; 
They iopt off the boughs that so beautiful 

spread, 
But the ivy they spared on its vitals that fed. 

No longer the bees o'er its honey dews play'd, 
Nor the beasts of the forests fed under its shade; 
Lopt and mangled the trunk in its ruin is seen, 
A monument now what its beauty has been. 

The Oak has received its incurable Wound, 
They have loosened the roots, tho' the heart 
may be sound ; 



MISCELLANIES. 147 

What the travellers at distance green-fLQurishing 

see, 
Are the leaves of the ivy that poisoned the tree . 

Alas for the Oak of our Fathers that stood 
In its beauty, the glory and pride of the wood ! 



THjE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS, 
And how he gained them. 



You are old, Father William, the young man 
cried, 

The few locks which are left you are grey; 
You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man, 

Now tell me the reason, I pray. 

In the days of my youth, Father William re- 
plied, 
I remember'd that youth would fly fast, 
And abused not my health and my vigour at 
first 
That I never might need them at last. 

You are old, Father William, the young man 
cried, 

And pleasures with youth pass away, 
And yet you lament not the days that are gone, 

Now tell me the reason, I pray. 



IIS MISCELLANIES. 

In the days of my youth, Father William replied 
I remember'd that youth could not last ; 

I thought of the future whatever I did, 
That I never might grieve for the past. 

You are old, Father William, the young man 
ci led, 
And lift must be hastening away ; 

You are cheerful, and love to converse upon 
death ! 
Now tell me the reason, I pray. 

I am cheerful, ycung man. Father William re- 
plied, 

Let the cause thy attention engage ; 
In the days of my youth I remember'd my God ! 

And Ke hath not forgotten my age. 



THE EBB TIlJE. 



Slowly thy flowing tide 
Came in, old Avon ! scarcely did mine eye§ 3 
As watchfully I roam'd thy green-wood side, 

Behold the gentle rise. 



MISCELLANIES. 149 

With many a stroke and strong 
The labouring boatman upward plied their 

oars, 
And yet the eye beheld them labouring long 

Between thy winding shores. 

Now down thine ebbing tide 
The unlaboured boat falls rapidly along ; 
The solitary helms-man sits to guide 

And sings an idle song. 

Now o'er the rocks that lay 
So silent late, the shallow current roars ; 
Fast flow thy waters on their sea-ward way 

Thro' wider-spreading shores. 

Avon ! I gaze and know 
The wisdom emblemed in thy varying way ; 
It speaks of human joys that rise so slow, 

So rapidly decay. 

Kingdoms that long have stood, 
And slow to strengh and power attain'd at last, 
Thus from the summit of high fortune's flood 

Ebb to their ruin fast, 

So tardily appears 
The course of time to manhood's envied stage ; 
Alas! how hurryingly the ebbing years 

Then hasten to old age 1 



150 MISCELLANIES. 



THE HOLLT TREE, 



G Reader ! hast thou ever stood to see 

The Holly Tree ? 
The eye that contemplates it well perceives 

Its glossy leaves 
Ordered by an intelligence so wise, 
As might confound the Atheist's sophistries. 

Below^ a circling fence, its leaves are seen 
Wrinkled and keen ; 

No grazing cattle thro' their prickly round 
Can reach to wound ; 

But as they grow where nothing is to fear, 

Smooth and unarm 'd the pointless leaves ap- 
pear. 

I love to view these things with curious eyes 

And moralize ! 
And in the wisdom of the Holly Tree 

Can emblems see 
Wherewith perchance to make a pleasant 

rhyme, 
-Such as may profit in the after-time. 

So, tho' abroad perchance I might appear 



MISCELLANIES. 151 

Harsh and austere, 
To those who on mv leisure would intrude 

Reserved and rude, 
Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be, 
Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree. 

And shouldjmy youth, as youth is apt, I know, 

Some harshness show, 
All vain asperities I, day by day, 

Would wear away, 
Till the smooth temper of my age should be 
Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree. 

And as when all the summer trees are seen 
So bright and green, 

The Holly leaves their fadeless hues display- 
Less bright than they, 

But when the bare and wintry woods we see, 

What then so cheerful as the Holly Tree ? 

So serious should my youth appear among 

The thoughtless throng, 
So would I seem amid the young and gay 

More grave than they, 
That in my age as cheerful I might be 
As the green winter of the Holly Tiee. 



ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 



155 

THE LAST OF THE FAMILY. 



JAMES. 

What Gregory ! you are come I see to join us 
On this sad business. 

GREGORY. 

Aye, James, 1 am come, 
But with a heavy heart, God knows it, man I 
"Where shall we meet the corpse ? 

JAMES. 

Some hour from hence ; 
By noon, and near about the elms, I take it. 
This is not as it should be, Gregory, 
Old men to follow young ones to the grave ! 
This morning when I heard the bell strike out, 
1 thought that I had never heard it toll 
So dismally before. 

GREGORY. 

Well, well ! my friend. 
'Tis what we all must come to, soon or late. 
But when a young man dies, in the prime of 

life, 
One born so well, who might have blest us all 
Many long years i — 

JAMES. 

And then the family 



156 ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 

Extinguished in him, and the good old name 
Only to be remembered on a tomb-stone ! 
A name that has gone down from sire to son 
So many generations ! — many a time 
Poor master Edward who is now a corpse, 
When but a child, would come to me and lead 

me 
To the great family tree, and beg of me 
To tell him stories of his ancestors, 
Of Eustace, he that went to the Holy Land 
With Richard Lion heart, and that Sir Henry 
Who fought at Crecy in King Edward's wars ; 
And then his little eyes would kindle so 
To hear of their brave deeds ! I used to think 
The bravest of them all would not out-do 
My darling boy. 

GREGORY. 

This comes of your great schools 
And college breeding. Plague upon his guar- 
dians 
That would have made him wiser than his fa- 
thers ! 

JAMES. 

If his poor father, Gregory ! had but lived, 
Things would not have been so. He, poor 

good man, 

Had little of book learning, but there lived not 
A kinder, nob'er-hearted gentleman, 
One better to his tenants. When he died 



EXGLIST ECLOGUES. 157 

'here wa? not a dry eye for miles around 
Gregory, I thought that 1 could never know 
V. sadder day than that; but what was that 
Compared with this dav's sorrow ? 

GREGORY. 

I remember 
light months ago when the young Squire be- 

g<m 
To alter the old mansion, they destroyed 
The martin's nests, that had stood undisturbed 
Under that roof, — aye ! long before my memo- 
ry, 
[ shook my head at seeing it, and thought 
No good could follow. 

JAMES. 

Poor young man ! I loved him, 
Like my own child. I loved the family ! 
Come Candlemas, and I have been their servant 
For five and forty years. I lived with them 
When his good father brought my Lady home. 
And when the young Squire was born, it did 

me good 
To hear the bells so merrily announce 
An heir. This is indeed a heavy blow— 
I feel it, Gregory, heavier than the weight 
Of threescore years. He was a noble lad, 
I loved him dearly. 

GREGORY. 

Every body loved him, 



158 ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 

Such a fine, generous, open-hearted youth ! 
When he came home from school at holydays, 
How I rejoiced to see him ! he was sure 
To come and ask of me what birds there were 
About my fields; and when I found a covey, 
There's not a testy Squire preserves his game 
More charily, than I have kept them safe 
For Master Edward. And he look'd so well 
Upon a fine sharp morning after them, 
His brown hair frosted, and his cheek so flush'd 
With such a wholesome ruddiness, — ah James, 
But he was sadly changed when he came down 
To keep his birth-day. 

JAMES. 

Chang'd! why Gregory, 
'Twas like a palsy to me, when he stepp'd 
Out of the carriage. He was grown so thin, 
His cheeks so delicate sallow, and his eyes 
Had such a dim and rakish hollowness ; 
And when he came to shake me by the hand 
And spoke as kindly to me as he used, 
1 hardly knew the voice. 

GREGORY. 

It struck a damp 
On all our merriment. 'Twas a noble ox 
That smok'd before us, and the old October 
Went merrily in overflowing cans ; 
But 'twas a skin-deep merriment. My heart 
Seem'd as it took no share. And when we drank 



ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 159 

His health, the thought came over me what 

cause 
We had for wishing that, and spoilt the draught. 
Poor Gentleman ! to think ten months ago 
He came of age, and now ! 

JAMES, 

I fear'd it then, 
He look'd to me as one that was not long 
For this world's business. 

GREGORY. 

When the doctor sent him 
Abroad to try the air, it made me certain 
That all was over. There's but little hope 
Methinks that foreign parts can help a man, 
When his own mother-country will not do. 
The last time he came down, these bells rung so 
I thought they would have rock'd the old steeple 

down ; 
And now that dismal toll ! I would have staid 
Beyond its reach, but this was a last duty, 
I am an old tenant of the family, 
Born on the estate, and now that I have out- 
lived it, — 
Why 'tis but right to see it to the grave. 
Have you heard aught of the new Squire ? 

JAMES. 

But little, 
And that not well. Bat be he what he may 
Matters not much to me. The love I bore 



160 ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 

To the good family will not easily fix 

Upon a stranger. What's on the opposite hill ? 

Is it not the funeral ? 

GREGORY, 

'Tis I think some horsemen. 
Aye ! there are the black cloaks ; and now I see 
The white plumes on the hearse. 

JAMES. 

Between the trees ; — 
*Tis hid behind them now. 

GREGORY. 

Aye ! now we see it, 
And there's the coaches following, we shall 

meet 
About the bridge. Would that this day were 

over ! 
I wonder whose turn's next ! 

JAMES. 

God above knows ! 
When youth is summoned what must age ex- 
pect ! 
God make us ready, Gregory ! when it comes, 



ENGLISH ECLOGUES 161 



THE WEDDING. 



TRAVELLER. 

I pray, you wherefore are the village bells 
Ringing so merrily ? 

WOMAN. 

A wedding, Sir. 
Two of the village folk. And they are right 
To make a merry time on't while they may, 
Gome twelve-months hence, I warrant them. 

they'd go 
To church again more willingly than now 
So all might be undone. 

TRAVELLER. 

An ill-match'd pair, 
So I conceive you. Youth perhaps and age 

woman. 
Ne, — both are young enough. 

TRAVELLER.. 

Perhaps the man then 3 
A lazy idler, one who better likes 
The alehouse than his work ? 

WOMAN. 

Why Sir, for that 
He always was a well-conditioned lad, 
o 



162 ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 

t)ne who'd work hard and well; and as for 

drink, 
Save now and then mayhap at Christmas time, 
Sober as wife cuuld wish. 

TRAVELLER. 

Then is the girl 
A shrew, or else untidy. One who'd welcome 
Her husband with a rude unruly tongue, 
Or drive him from a foul and wretched home 
To look elsewhere for comfort, hit so ? 

WOMAN. 

She's notable enough, and as for temper 

The best good-humour'd girl ! dYe see thdt 

house ? 
There by the aspin tree whose grey leave? 

shine 
In the wind ? she lived a servant at the farm, 
And often as I came to weeding here, 
I've heard her sinking as she milk'd her cows 
So cheerfullv, — I did not like to hear h 
Because it made me think upon the dp.ys 
When I had got a little, on my mind, 
And was as cheerfal too. But she woald marry, 
And folks must reap as they have sown. God 

help her ! 

TRAVELLER. 

Why Mistress, if they both are well inclined, 
Why should not both be happy ? 



ENGLISH ECLOGUES, 163 

WOMAN, 

They've no money. 

TRAVELLER. 

But both can work ; and sure as cheerfully 
She'd labour for herself as at the farm. 
And he wo'nt work the worse because he knows 
That she will make his fire-side ready for him 
And watch for his return. 

WOMAN. 

All very well, 
A little while. 

TRAVELLER. 

And what if they are pocr ? 
Riches ca'nt always purchase happiness, 
And much we know will be expected there 
Where much was given. 

WOMAN. 

All this I have heard at church ! 
And when I walk in the church-yard or have 

been 
By a death bed, 'tis mighty comforting ; 
But when 1 hear my children cry for hunger 
And see them shiver in their rags, — God help 

me ! 
I pity those for whom these bells ring up 
So merrily upon their wedding day, 
Because 1 think of mine. 

TRAVELLER, 

You have known trouble, 



164- ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 

These haply may be happier. 
woman. 

Why for that 
I've had my share ; some sickness and some 

sorrow ; 
Well will it be for them to know no worse. 
Yet had I rather hear a daughters knell 
Than her wedding peal, Sir, if I thought her 

fate 
Promised no better things. 

TRAVELLER. 

Sure, sure, good woman, 
You look upon the world with jaundiced eyes ! 
All have their cares ; those who are poor want 

wealth, 
Those who have wealth want more, so are we all 
Dissatisfied, yet all live on, and each 
Kas his own comforts. 

WOMAN. 

Sir ! d'ye see that horse 
Turn'd out to common here by the way side ? 
He's high in bone, you may tell every lib 
Even at this distance. Mind him ! how he 

turns 
His head to drive away the flies that feed 
On his gall'd sh^-ild*- ! there's just grass 

enough 
To disappoint his \ ed appetite. 
You see his tvmfotU^ Sir ! 



ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 165 

TRAVELLER, 

A wretched beast ! 
Hard labour and worse usage he endures 
From some bad master. Bat the lot of the 

poor 
Is not like his. 

WOMAN, 

In truth it is not, Sir; 
For when the horse lies down at night, no cares 
About to-morrow vex him in his dreams ; 
He knows no quarter-day, and when he gets 
Some musty hay @r patch of hedge-row grass 
He has no hungry children to claim part 
Of his half meal ! 

TRAVELLER. 

'Tis idleness makes want, 
And idle habits. If the man will go 
And spend his evenings by the ale-house fire, 
Whom can he blame if there is want at home ? 

woman. 
Aye ! idleness ! the rich folks never fail 
To find some reason why the poor deserve 
Their miseries ! is it idleness-, I pray you, 
That brings the fever or the ague fit I 
That makes the sick one's sickly appetite 
Turn at the dry bread i>l d )tatoe meal ? 
Is it idleness that makes i. wages fail 
For growing want*? i /ears agone, these 
bells 



166 ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 

Rung on my wedding day, and I was told 
What I might look for, — but I did not heed 
Good counsel. I had lived in service, Sir, 
Knew never what it was to want a meal ; 
Laid down without one thought to keep me 

sleepless 
Or trouble me in sleep ; had for a Sunday 
My linen gown, and when the pedlar came 
Could buy me a new ribbon : — and my hus- 
band,— 
A toward !y young man and well to do, 
He had his silver buckles and his watch, 
There was not in the village one who look'd 
Sprucer on holydays. We married, Sir, 
And we had children, but as wants increas'd 
Wages did not. The silver buckles went, 
So went the watch, and when the holyday coat 
Was worn to work, no new* one in its place. 
For me — you see my rags ! but 1 deserve them, 

* A farmer once told the Author of Malvern 
Hills, " that he almost constantly remarked a 
gradation of changes in those men he had been 
in the habit of employing. Young men, he said, 
were generally neat in their appearance, active 
and cheerful, till they became married and had 
a family when he had observed that their silver 
buttons, buckles and watches gradually disap- 
peared, and their Sunday's clothes became com- 






ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 167 

For wilfully like this new-marriecj pair 
I went to my undoing. 

TRAVELLER. 

But the parish — 

WOMAN. 

Aye, it falls heavy there, and yet their pittance 
Just serves to keep life irr. A blessed prospect, 
To slave while there is strength, in age the work 

house, 
A parish shell at last, and the little bell 
Toll'd hastily for pauper's funeral ! 

TRAVELLER. 

Is this your child ? 

WOMAN. 

Ave Sir, and were Ik 
And clean, he'd he as fine a boy to look on 
As the Squire's young master. These thin 

rags of his 
Let comfortably in the summer wind , 
c ut when the winter comes, it pinches me 
'o see the little wretch ! I've three besides, 
tnd, — God forgive me ! but I often wish 



ion without any other to supply their place, — 
utj said he, some good comes from this, for they mil 
\sn work for whatever they can g?t." 

Note to Cottle's Malvern Hills, 



168 ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 

To see them in their coffins — God reward you! 
God bless you for your charity ! 

TRAVELLER. 

You have taught me 
To give sad meaning to the village bells ! 



INSCRIPTIONS. 



17i 



i. 

For a Monument at Oxford. 



Here Latimer and Ridley in the flames 

Bore witness to the truth. If thou hast walk'd 

Uprightly thro* the world, proud thoughts of 

joy 
Will fill thy breast in contemplating here 
Congenial virtue. But if thou hast swerved 
From the right path, if thou hast sold thy soul, 
And served, a hireling, with apostate zeal, 
The cause thy heart disowns, — oh ! cherish 

well 
The honourable shame that sure this place 
Will wake within thee, timely penitent 3 
And let the future expiate the past. 



172 INSCRIPTIONS. 

n. 

For a monument in the Vale ofEwiAS. 



Here was it stranger, that the patron Saint 

Of Cambria past his age of penitence, 

A solitary man ; and here he made 

His hermitage, the roots his food, his drink 

Of Hodney's mountain stream. Perchance thy 

youth 
Has read with eager wonder how the Knight 
Of Wales in Crmandine's enchanted bower, 
Slept the long sleep : and if that in thy veins 
Flow the pure blood of Britain* sure that blood 
Hath flow'd with quicker impulse at the tale 
Of David's deeds, when thro' the press of war 
His gallant comrades followed his green crest 
To conquest. Stranger ! Hatterili's mountain 

heights 
And this fair vale of Ewias, and the stream 
Of Hodney, to thine after-thoughts will rise 
More grateful, thus associate with the name 
Of David and the deeds of other days, 



INSCRIPTIONS. 173 

III. 

EPITAPH on ALGERNON SIQNET. 



Here Sidney lies, he whom perverted law, 
The pliant jury, and the bloody judge 
Doom'd to the traitor's death. A tyrant King 
Required, an abject country saw and shar'd 
The crime. The noble cause of liberty 
He loved in life, and to that noble cause 
In death bore witness. But his country rose 
Like Sampson from her sleep and broke her 

chains, 
And proudly with her worthies she enrolled 
Her murdered Sidney's name. The voice of 

man 
Gives honour or destroys ; but earthly power 
Gives not, nor takes away, the self applause 
Which on the scaffold suffering virtue feels, 
Jsfor that which God appointed its reward* 



174- INSCRIPTIONS. 

IV. 

EPITAPH ON KING JOHN. 



John rests below. A man more Infamous 
Never hath held the sceptre of these realms, 
And bruised beneath the iron rod of power, 
The oppressed men of England. Englishman ! 
Curse not his memory. Murderer as he was, 
Coward and slave, yet he it was who sign'd 
That charter which should make thee morn 

and night 
Be thankful for thy birth-place— ^Englishman ! 
That holy charter, which, should'st thou per- 
mit 
Force to destroy, or fraud to undermine, 
Thy children's groans will persecute thy sou!, 
For they must bear the burthen of thy crims. 



INSCRIPTIONS* 175 

V. 

IN A FOREST. 



Stranger ! whose steps have reach'd this solitude. 
Know that this lonely spot was dear to one 
Devoted with no unrequited zeal 
To nature. Here, delighted he has heard 
The rustling of these woods, that now perchance 
Melodious to the gAe of summer move ; 
And underneath their shade on yon smooth 

rock, 
With grey and yellow lichens overgrown, 
Often reclined ; watching the silent flow 
Of this perspicuous rivulet, that steals 
Along its verdant course, — till all around 
Had fill'dhis senses with tranquillity, 
And ever sooth'd in spirit hereturn'd 
A happier, better man. Stranger, perchance, 
Therefore the stream more lovely to thine eye 
Will glide along, and to the summer gale 
The woods wave more melodious. Cleanse 

thou then, 
The weeds and mosses frctn this lettei'd stcr.ei 



176 INSCRIPTIONS. 

vr, 

jfiv a MONUMENT at TAUNTON 



They perish'd here whom Jefferies doomed t© 

death 
In mockery of all justice, when he came 
The bloody Judge, the minion of his King, 
Commissioned to destroy. They p-erish'd here 
The victims of that Judge, and of that King, 
In mockery of all justice perish'd here 
Unheard ! but not unpitied, nor of God 
Unseen, the innocent suffered ! not in vain 
The innocent blood cried vengeance ! for they 

rose, 
At length the People in their power arose, 
Resistless. Then that bloody Judge took flight, 
Disguis'd in vain :— not always is the Lord 
Slow to revenge ! a miserable man 
He fell beneath the people's rage, and still 
The children curse his memory. From hk 

throne 
The sullen bigot who commi&sion'd hfrn, 



INSCRIPTIONS. 177 

Tyrannick James was driven. He lived to drag 
Long years of frustrate hope, he lived to load 
More blood upon his soul. Let tell the Boyne* 
Let Londonderry tell his guilt and shame, 
And that immortal day when oa thy shores 
La Hogue, the purple ocean dash'd the dead, \ 



178 INSCRIPTIONS. 

VII. 

For a TABLET at PENSHURST. 



Arc days of old familiar to thy mind 
O Reader ? hast thou let the midnight hour 
Pass unperceived, whilst thy young fancy lived 
With high-born beauties and enamcur'd chiefs. 
Shar'd all their hopes, and with a breathless joy 
Whose eager expectation almost pain'd 
Followed their dangerous fortunes { if such 

lore 
Hath ever thrili'd thy bosom, thou wilt tread, 
As with a pilgrim's reverential thoughts, 
The groves of Penshurst. Siduey here was 

born, 

Sidney, than whom no gentler, braver man 

His own delightful genius ever feign 'd, 

Illustrating the vales of Arcady 

With courteous courage and with loyai loves* 

Upon his natal day the acorn here 

Was planted. It grew up a stately oak, 



INSCRIPTIONS. 179 

And in the beauty of its strength it stood 
And flourish'd, when his perishable part 
Had moulder'd dust to dust. That stately oak 
Itself hath moulder'd now, but Sidney's fame 
Lives and shall live, immortalized in song. 



FINIS. 



CONTENTS. 



Metrical Tales. 
God's Judgment on a Bishop - - • - 7 

The Pious Painter 12 

St. Michael's Chair and who sat there - - 19 
A Ballad of a young man that would read 

unlawful books and how he was punished ; 

very pithy and profitable - - - - 22 
King CharJemain --------25 

St. Romuald 32 

The Well of St. Keyne - - - - * - 35 
Bishop Bruno --------- 38 

The Battle of Blenheim 42 

St. Gualberto - 45 

MoNODRAMAS. 

Ximalpoca ----------6*7 

The Wife of Fergus 71 

Lucretia -----------74 

Songs of the American Indians. 
The Huron's Address to the dead - - - 79 
The Peruvian's Dirge over the body of his 
Father 81 

Song of the Araucans during a thunder storm 84 
Song of the Chikkasah Widow - - - €6 
The Old £hijikasah to his grandson - - 89 



CONTENTS. 

The Love Elegies of Abel Shufflebottom, 

Elegy 1-.- 93 

2 94 

3 96 

4 98 

Sonnets. 

Sonnet 1 -.-. ioo 

2 103 

3 104 

4 105 

5 106 

6 i...-- 106 

7 - - - 107 

8 108 

9 108 

10 109 

11 110 

12 110 

Anomalies. 

SnufF 115 

Cool Reflections during a Midsummer walk 116 

The Pig 119 

The Dancing Bear 121 

The Filbert 124 

Miscellanies. 

Gooseberry Pie. A Pindaric Ode - .- 129 

The Battle of Pultowa *.---"- 131 



CONTENTS, 

The Death of Wallace - - - - - - 133 

To a Friend, enquiring &c. - - - - 135 

The Dead Friend 137 

History 139 

The Soldier's Funeral 140 

To a Spider 143 

The Oak of our Fathers 145 

The Old Man's Comforts ... - 147 

The Ebb Tide -------- 148 

The Holly Tree 150 

English Eclogues. 

The Last of the Family ----- 155 

The Wedding 161 

Inscriptions. 
Inscription 1 --------171 

2 172 

3 173 

4 174 

5 --- 175 

6 176 

7 -------- 178 



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